Save Me (And I Will Save You)
by Myriddin
Summary: Modern AU. Tied together intricately by their past and present, Jon and Sansa are no strangers to complicated. Choices and consequences have shaped their lives, but as their bond holds strong, how far will life's complications go in forging their future?
1. One: Familiar Stranger

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin

**Chapter One: Familiar Stranger **

I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire. A Song of Ice and Fire is the property of George R.R. Martin and Bantam Books, and are not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

_King's Landing, 2014_

Sansa Stark sat on the living room couch in the apartment she lived in, a cup of tea held tightly in her hands. Outside, a storm raged, full of howling winds and rain pelting against the windows. She pressed her fingers against her temples, letting out a weary sigh. She had barely managed to get her sick four-year-old, Brynden, to sleep a half-hour before. The boy had come down with a bad chest cold, but thank the Seven, he was in the final stages and according to the doctor, would recover fine with plenty of rest.

Pulling the quilt she was wrapped in tighter around her, she allowed her head to fall back against the couch cushion, her eyes closing in the aftermath of a very long day. Outside, the storm continued on. She had to admit, when she was younger thinking about life a few years down the road, single motherhood hadn't been the first expectation on her list. But now, she wouldn't trade her precious baby boy for anything.

A sharp rapping at the front door broke through her reflections, and she reluctantly left the warmth of her couch cocoon. Mumbling under her breath with irritation, she undid the lower lock and eased open the door with the upper chain still in place. Her annoyed expression changed, and she immediately moved to unlatch the door completely.

Hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket, the figure shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot as he cautiously looked up to gauge her reaction. His dark curls were plastered to his head, water running in rivulets down his rugged face as he looked at her pleadingly.

Though she tried her best to look reprimanding, something about a twenty-eight-year-old man being able to pull off puppy dog eyes was too much and she sighed, leaning back to let him in. His face filled with relief and he smiled at her, dripping on the floor as he stepped inside.

She motioned for him not to move from his spot, and he watched her disappear down the hallway, shifting to toe off his hiking boots and carefully set them aside. He stretched and let his gaze thoughtfully trail over the room.

His surroundings were more than familiar. He was far from a stranger to this home, but there was something especially inviting about the atmosphere that night that had the tension in him disappearing, easing into a contentment he could rarely muster anywhere else. Perhaps it was that sense of familiarity. Perhaps it was the welcoming warmth enveloping the small apartment. Whatever it was, he found himself too tired to feel guilty about the feelings that welled up inside him. Being here felt like coming home.

A towel tossed at his head alerted him to Sansa's returned presence, as the cloth caught him in the face. He lifted the towel to give her a annoyed look, though he obediently stepped onto the one she tossed at his feet. She smirked at him, shaking her head with fond exasperation.

"Your impersonation of a drowned rat is going to ruin my carpet, Snow."

"If it's that much of a problem, I'll call the cleaners in the morning, Stark," he replied, both honestly and with a trace of sarcasm. He shrugged out the old bomber jacket he was so fond of, one that had belonged to his Uncle Benjen, and placed it to hang on the coat rack.

Shedding the coat revealed his wet henley and jeans clinging as close as a second skin, emphasizing the physique shaped by years of swimming competitively in high school and university. Sansa bit her lip as she thought of the lean, sinewy muscle she knew was under those clothes, and allowed herself only a cursory side-glance before looking away. "If you want, there's some clothes you can change into in my room. Third drawer down in the bureau."

The jealousy he felt at her words startled Jon, both in the suddenness and the intensity of the feeling. He swallowed back the sharp, biting bitterness and managed to say in a casual tone. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm a bit too tall for Willas' things."

She shot him a baffled look. "It's your stuff, not Will's. Have you honestly never noticed how often you leave things behind when you stay over?"

Jon nodded silently, shamefaced as the same envious feelings lingered at the thought of Sansa's ex-boyfriend. He muttered an ascent and shuffled down the hallway to her bedroom, stepping carefully so not to disturb the sleeping child next door. He walked into the room- neat and tidy, done in a color scheme of subtle blues and greens- and smiled softly at being surrounded by something so completely Sansa.

He stripped out of his wet clothes, dropping them into an empty laundry basket nearby. He bent over to pull open the drawer Sansa had directed him to, pausing with surprise at what he found. The drawer was filled to brim- several of his t-shirts, a pair of jeans, a couple sweaters, a random assortment of socks, even the scarf he thought he lost last winter. He grinned when he came across an unopened package of underwear in his size.

_That woman really does think of everything._

As if summoned by his thoughts, there was a brief knock at the door. Jon knew the routine by now; he ripped open the package and donned a pair of black boxer-briefs, opening the door to hand off the basket with his wet clothes to a waiting Sansa. He whispered his thanks, amused and miffed when his words were met with yet another fresh towel to the face. He huffed, thanked her again and shut the door.

He dressed, slipping into the jeans and a faded Night's Watch ROTC long-sleeve from his college days, and returned to the living room, toweling off his hair as he went. He found Sansa occupied on the sofa, hovering over paperwork spread out on the coffee table. He plopped down beside her.

Without taking her eyes off her work, she closed the few inches between them until they were hip-to-hip, her leg pressing against his. Jon draped his arm along the back of the couch, brushing against her shoulders as he moved. She absently acknowledged the touch, reaching up to touch her hand to his, their fingertips grazing in a lingering touch.

Sansa leaned against his side, settling into the circle of his arm. He sighed contently, closing his eyes and relaxing back against the cushions. He cracked one eye open to regard her, and with a light smirk, he shifted to fold his legs beneath him, sliding his ankles under the blanket she was using.

She yelped and jumped with surprise as his bare feet curled around her calves, cold as ice. She pulled the quilt up to reveal the source of her discomfort and she glared. "Ever hear of socks?" she hissed at him, slapping his arm when he only grinned at her.

"But you're just so warm," he countered cheekishly, catching her arm as she tried to smack him again and gently tugged her into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, propping his knees up to playfully trap her in an encasement of limbs.

She huffed with annoyance, glowering at him but she did not protest his hold. He gave her a downtrodden look, complete with a pouting frown and imploring eyes. Sansa was not impressed.

"Now I know where Bryn gets it. I thought maybe it was Robb that taught him that look, but no, it was all you." She poked him in the chest pointedly. "Freeloaders like you are a bad influence."

"C'mon, Freckles," he lightly teased, "Bryn loves me."

That was an understatement. Brynden practically worshiped the ground Jon walked on. The thought of that, combined with his familiar endearment, was enough to dispel her ire. And redirect her attention as she picked up on the undertone to his last words. "You're right," she said softly, "He does. There are some days where all he talks about is his Uncle Jon."

There was a look of wistful, longing hope in his eyes that had her heart aching, hesitating as she contemplated the lines between what she could do…and what she longed to do. To kiss him…to really embrace him…it was just hopeless fantasy, she knew, as she settled for taking his hand, the larger palm enveloping hers warm and calloused. "Really?" he asked her tentatively, his voice just barely above a whisper.

"Really. Trust me. He adores you, Jon."

He smiled softly, pressing his lips to her temple as he leaned his head against hers, "By the way…"

"Hmm?"

"It's not freeloading if you open your door to me each time."

She twisted around to face him, arching an eyebrow. "Still freeloading," she said airily, mimicking his earlier singsong tone as she teased him.

Jon narrowed his eyes. "I might have to take offense to that, and take revenge."

"You wouldn't dare, Snow."

"Wouldn't I?"

Sansa squealed with surprise as he suddenly whirled her around, digging his fingers into her ribs as he tickled her. His body leaned over her, his face animated with boyish glee as she collapsed in helpless laughter, begging him to stop with bated breath between giggles.

Jon didn't let up, pressing her back against the couch as he continued. She writhed and squirmed beneath him. She dragged her nails down his neck, tugged at his hair, threatening him between bouts of laughter, but still he did not let her go.

Slender legs locked around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back as she used her new hold on him as leverage, arching up against him in an attempt to throw him off. He barely budged, but he did pause, a strangled sound escaping his throat, his hands dropping to either side of them. As he adjusted to the new position, his body pressed intimately close to hers. They stared each other, smiles gone, the room quiet but for the sound of their ragged breathing.

"You play dirty," he muttered, the husky whisper carrying through the quiet room despite the softness of his tone, the intensity underlying the simple statement unmistakable.

She swallowed hard, his proximity intoxicating as he rested his head against the crook of her neck, breathing hard, his lips just barely brushing against her clavicle with every exhalation. Feeling foolishly brave, she ran her hands down his back, feeling the heat radiating off of him beneath the material of his shirt, the muscles quivering with tension beneath her touch.

They couldn't…they couldn't…they _couldn't_…but temptation was at its highest pinnacle, and it was so damn hard to resist. In the end, though, there was something worth fighting for. Both their honor.

She linked her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers through his hair as she pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, smoothing her cheek against his, feeling the light scratch of five o'clock shadow against her skin. She spoke quietly in his ear, a simple whisper of his name, "Jon."

Jon let out a heavy sigh and then relaxed against her, embracing her as he shifted his position. He turned over onto his back and Sansa settled against him, pressing her head to his chest. She listened to his heartbeat for a few moments before she chose to speak. "Jon, what happened with Margaery?"

He tensed, but her reassuring caress of his arm had him slowly relaxing again. He blew out a long, frustrated breath. "We fought. "

She rested her hand over his and when Jon entwined their fingers, she found herself uncomfortably aware of cold metal of his wedding ring. "What about?"

"About the only thing we have to even talk about anymore. Daeron."

Sansa froze, a sense of unease building at the mention of his son. She raised her head to look down at him, taking in the way his frown deepened the premature stress lines around his mouth and eyes, and sighed. Twenty years she had known this man, and those lines hadn't been there five years ago when he first got that ring on his finger.

"I'm listening."


	2. Two: Come-Hither and Retreat

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin

**Two: Come-Hither and Retreat**

_Winterfell, 2003_

Tears blurred her eyes, already swollen and sore from crying, as she hurried up the footpath leading to her family home. She rustled through her purse for her house-keys with trembling fingers, stumbling up the stairs but managing to keep her balance until she tripped over something long and solid lying on the porch.

Relief filled her when strong hands caught her just before she hit the porch. She balanced herself by shifting onto her knees and raised her head to thank her rescuer, only to stop in surprise as she met a familiar pair of gray eyes. "Jon? What are you doing here?"

Jon smiled at her sheepishly. "Waiting for Robb. He told me he'd be back soon, but that was an hour ago. I think I've been forgotten."

Despite herself, Sansa weakly giggled at his put-out expression. "Was he with Jeyne? He does that all the time when they're together."

"That explains it." He sat himself down from where he had been crouching, stretching out his long legs. His hand brushed over a worn paperback resting beside him, and Sansa realized he must have been sitting there and reading, patiently waiting for her brother, when she tripped over him. She was about to apologize when Jon's gaze on her seemed to sharpen and he leaned closer. "Sansa, have you been crying?"

"No, I just-"

"Sansa," he said firmly, brooking no argument as she sighed with defeat. All it took was his genuine, blatant concern and her defenses fell, her face crumbling. Jon wordlessly opened his arms and Sansa fell into them, clinging to him as he gathered her into a comforting embrace. She buried her face in the crook of her neck, as he rubbed soothing circles on her back. "Sansa, what happened, sweetheart?"

The endearment drew from her a weak smile as she burrowed closer. "Harry," she admitted softly, her voice so quiet Jon had to strain to make it out.

Jon immediately scowled at the mention of Harry Hardyng. Robb's distain for his sister's arse of a boyfriend was well-known, and Jon wholeheartedly shared the ill-feeling. "What did he say?"

A bitter, humorless laugh escaped her, an ugly sound that had him tightening his arms around her. "It's not what he said, it's what he did. He slept with someone else. Oh gods, Jon. He cheated on me. He said he'd wait for me, and then he cheated on me."

"Oh, Sansa." As she trembled, he thought her cold, but another shudder followed, one after the other until her entire body was shaking with silent sobs, and her tears were soaking the fabric of his shirt.

Shocked to see her cry in such a way; he hesitated for just a moment before he began to rock her gently back and forth, as he whispered reassuringly into her ear, sounds and words that soon jumbled to make little sense. But she cared little for sensible things right then and there, and his voice was soothing, an anchor among the sea of pent-up pain.

She slowly calmed, and the tremors running through her body quieted as she drew back to meet his worried gaze. He took her in as well, her pale face, her red-rimmed eyes, and his jaw clenched with anger. How someone could be so callous and disregarding of a girl as incredible as Sansa?

His disgust was evident in his expression, and when his fist clenched with the entertaining of ramming his knuckles into Hardyng's smug face, Sansa laid her hand over his and coaxed his fingers to uncurl and relax. She winced sympathetically as she saw the bright red indents his nails had left in his palms. She was embarrassed as her eyes began to well up once again.

He looked back at her, and his anger instantly faded, replaced by a worried expression she thought looked incredibly adorable on his brooding face. "Sansa?"

She shook her head, sniffling as she wiped at the stray tears. "I'm alright. They're not sad tears, I swear. It's just...thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, Sansa." He frowned uncertainly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," she assured him, tilting her head up to press a kiss to his cheek, nuzzling against the light stubble of his chin. She breathed in the scent of him, a warm, masculine spice entirely Jon. He smiled down at him and that smile was so kind, so gentle toward her. He was so sweet…

Sansa bit her lip uncertainly for a moment, then moved her head to hesitantly press her lips to his. Jon immediately tensed at the contact, and after a long, drawn-out moment, as he failed to respond, her heart sank. She readied to pull away when he came to life against her, the firm line to his mouth softening and growing warmly respondent.

Sansa gave a soft sigh of satisfaction, twining her arms around his neck as he cupped the back of her head. He stroked the nape of her neck, tongue skimming the seam of her lips in a plea for entrance.

She opened to him and Jon Snow knew he had never tasted anything so perfectly sweet.

Jon teasingly caught her bottom lip between his teeth and Sansa moaned in reply, pressing herself all the more closer against him. Her husky, voiced satisfaction pulled at Jon's libido and he growled. The sound thrilled her, and she moved to straddle him, fingers tangling through his curls.

"Sansa!"

The pair broke apart so suddenly, Sansa was sent hurtling backward as she drew away from him. She dug her hands into Jon's thighs to catch her balance, consequently changing her momentum as she came crashing into him. Pressed flush against him, his hands clenched at her waist, Sansa's eyes widening as she felt the evidence of his groin, half-erect, pressing against her thigh.

Their eyes met and she fiercely blushed, hastily scrambling off her lap. Jon opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off as Sansa's younger brother, Bran, appeared in the doorway leading into the house, staring at them quizzically. "Sansa, didn't you hear me calling? Mom said to tell you that dinner's ready. Oh, and Jon…Robb called and said he's eating at Jeyne's house."

"Thank you, Bran," Sansa murmured as she struggled to her feet, Jon rising to his a little more gracefully. She avoided eye-contact, edging away from him, a gesture that earned a bewildered look from her brother. "Sansa? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Casting Jon a furtive glance, she pushed past them both and rushing into the house.

Jon's eyes followed her until she disappeared from sight, his attention only diverted as Bran nudged him in the arm. "She's acting weird, Jon."

Jon shrugged, casting one last look in the direction Sansa had gone, guilt blanketing his expression. "Girls are like that, kiddo." He sighed, tucking his book into his back-pocket and feeling around in one of the front ones for his keys. "Tell you what. I'm taking Arya up for a ride in the mountains this weekend. Maybe you can join us if it's alright with your mom."

"Maybe," Bran muttered dubiously. His mother wasn't particularly fond of Jon. Robb had commented once on it having something to do with Catelyn not liking their father, Brandon's, history with Jon's mother, but it made little sense to ten-year-old Bran. He liked Jon and liked spending time with him. He was jealous Arya got to see him so much, a given since they shared the same house.

Jon ruffled his hair fondly. "See you soon, monkey." Bran rolled his eyes at the nickname referencing his love of climbing, but his eyes lit up at Jon's words. "Be good, and maybe I'll put in a good word with Commander Mormont about getting you some time with the climbing wall the JROTC uses for training. Just between us, though."

"Just between us." Bran watched his honorary big brother's retreating back until he climbed into his truck and drove away. The boy shook his head confusedly and turned back to the house.

"Teenagers are so weird."

xx

"Hey."

Sprawled out on his bed, Jon looked up from his book at the sound of the familiar voice, spotting an awkwardly smiling Sansa standing in his doorway. He raised himself into a sitting position, setting down his novel as he motioned her into his bedroom. "Hey yourself."

"Arya let me in," she explained softly, tentatively meeting his eyes, biting her lip in a nervous gesture. Her cousin hadn't been happy to see her either. The preteen had glared at her fiercely when she opened the door, demanded she fixed whatever she'd done to Jon, and pushed past Sansa to take off on her bike.

Jon simply nodded, "Okay."

He watched her thoughtfully as she slowly wandered around the familiar room, perpetually neat and well-kept as always, an aspect of his personality she found rather fitting. A large bookcase took up most of the wall opposite of his bed, and she let her fingers trace over the cover bindings, musing over the familiar titles. "What are you reading?"

He held up the novel for her perusal. "Ah," she cocked her head in his direction, smiling softly, "More history on the ancient North? Did you find another one about your snow monsters?" She'd noticed him reading the books before when she came over to spend time with her aunt and uncle, and heard Robb tease him often of his interest in the far-off past.

"White Walkers," he corrected automatically.

"Snarks and grumkins," she teased, tentatively seating herself on the end of his bed.

Jon rolled his eyes, though he quickly grew serious. "Does this mean you've stopped avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you." Even to her own ears, her words sounded less than convincing. Jon's dubious expression told her he echoed her feeling. "Jon..."

"I'm sorry!" he blurted out, startling them both, and Jon recovered enough to look at her with guilty eyes. "I'm sorry, Sansa. That's what I've been trying to say for the last week."

Sansa's brow furrowed with confusion. "What?"

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you. I shouldn't have taken it so far. It was inappropriate. I didn't mean to scare you. Please believe me." His loss of control that afternoon had been haunting him for days. Gods help him, he had practically mauled her, even gotten aroused enough for her to feel it. She was too young, fourteen to his seventeen, and far out of his league. What in the seven hells had he been thinking?

"Jon..." Sansa trailed off once more, unsure which of the dozen things she wanted to say should be stated. That he hadn't scared her, that he had felt wonderful. His kiss and touch had felt amazing, left her longing, and the only thing that scared her was how much she wanted him to kiss her again.

It was a strange thing to want and feel. She had known Jon most of her life. She had even met him before Robb and been responsible for introducing the two best friends, but they hadn't been particularly close since she was little. They were even family of sorts, her Uncle Ned having taken Jon in after his mother died and his uncle Benjen had been deployed overseas.

Things had changed a few months ago, the first time she saw Jon in his Night's Watch JROTC dress uniform. She had never before thought of quiet, brooding Jon in any way but platonically before, but he struck such an impressive, handsome figure that day she'd ended up nursing a shallow little crush on him since. The infatuation up until the day he held her as she cried had been superficial, but her feelings had only evolved since the day he'd shown her such tender care.

She couldn't seem to make herself say any of this. Instead, she hesitated, licking her lips before continuing. "You didn't scare me, Jon. I kissed you first."

His relief was nearly palpable and she realized just how much he had feared having done something to make her feel uncomfortable with him. "It still shouldn't have happened," he reiterated.

"You didn't want to?"

Her voice was soft, full of vulnerability and Jon sighed, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her forehead, "That's not the point. You just broke up with your boyfriend. Your first serious one. Jumping into things with me would just hurt you more."

She was still frowning and he was quick to reassure, cupping her face and tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. "Of course I wanted to kiss you, sweetheart. You're wonderful. You're perfect. Hardyng didn't deserve you. But don't you think I'm a little old for you?"

"You make it sound like you're ancient."

"I just might be. You never know, I just might be an ancient Northern warrior reborn." Sansa rolled her eyes and giggled as he dared to be playful, pressing a light kiss to her nose. She wrinkled it at his touch. "So what do you say? Are we still friends?"

As much as Sansa wanted to say no, that she wanted to pursue this strange, exciting new thing between them, fear (not of Jon, of course, but of the unknown) clogged her throat, and she nodded with reluctant acquiescence. "Friends."

xx

_King's Landing, 2014_

"So what about Daeron?"

His lips pursed as he looked away, his eyes distant in a way that prophesied his disconcertion. "His birthday's coming up and Aegon wants to take him out for the day. Something about uncle-nephew bonding. Bullshit if I ever heard it."

Jon's tone grew mocking and slightly embittered, taking on a flat quality that had her fighting to discern how to comfort him, "He's only got the gall to ask for something like that because the Lannisters are coming into town that weekend, so Myrcella's attention will be elsewhere. No reason for her to suspect her husband's sudden interest in his bastard brother's son."

The bitterness in his voice was sharp and poignant, reflected in the way gray eyes hardened with cold anger, jaw clenching with five years of suppressed temper and hurt.

"Jon…Jon, look at me." She touched a hand to his cheek, gently grasping his chin to turn his face toward her.

"He's my son. _My_ son, Sansa. Why can't he let it be?"

"Jon…" his name seemed to be the only sound she could muster in response to an argument and resentment beaten into the ground by five years of the man before her playing pretend, wondering and waiting for his delicately crafted world to fall apart all over again. She sifted her fingers through his hair, letting her hand gently run across his nape, stroking the tension away from the column of his neck. He sighed, letting his head roll back against the couch cushion, fixing her with tired, world-weary eyes.

"…what does Margaery say…?"

"She's not fighting it. He's my blood, Sansa, I know that, but gods, the whole thing just turns my stomach. Every time I look in Myrcella's eyes, trusting me with the world…" he trailed off, his eyes closing as a strangled sound escaped him, half sob, half moan, and Sansa embraced him all that much tighter, Jon burying his face in her hair. She cradled his head, reveling in the strange paradox that even as his arms held her close, nestling her against his chest, it was her comforting him, stroking his hair as he let out a few more of those desperate, choked sounds; being the man he was, still not daring to cry.

Sansa rubbed his back, kissed his temple and held him tight as humanly possible, unable to say a thing, for it had all been said dozens of times before. Five years wasn't nearly enough to erase the damage done, by the affair that had completely rocked their collective worlds.

"She's not even going to be in town."

"Margaery? Why?"

"She's flying to Highgarden…something to do with Tyrell Designs."

Sansa winced at the mention of her previous employer, her hands moving downward to gently massage his shoulders. Jon shifted beneath her fingers to give her better access, tense muscles slowly relaxing under her touch. She sighed as she slowly worked out the kinks and knots stress had inflicted on him, pressing a light kiss to the side of his neck. "I'm sorry, Jon. I wish there was something I could say, or do…but…"

He shook his head, opening his eyes to gaze up at her, favoring her with a small smile. "You don't have to be sorry, Sansa. You're my safe haven, you know that? That's more than any man could ever ask for."

He brushed back her hair, leaning in to gently press his lips to hers, soft and sweet, pulling back as quickly as he'd initiated the moment he realized his blunder. They stared at each other for a moment, neither certain what to say, and Sansa shook her head as he opened his mouth to speak.

She kissed him once more, her mouth lingering against his as she felt him respond, his lips moving beneath hers as she twined her fingers through his hair, leaning further into him even as he sat up to draw her closer. His hands glided up her back, leaving pleasured shivers in the wake of his touch, cradling the back of her head as he took gentle, coaxing control of the kiss.

Eliciting a soft moan from her as he caught her bottom lip between his teeth, he gently tilted her head, intent on deepening the contact when she slowly pulled back, breaking their lip lock, her eyes dark and guilty as they met his. "We really shouldn't have done that," she told him, her voice just barely carrying above a whisper.

"You're right. I'm sorry. That was selfish."

Sansa sighed. "Jon..."

"I know. Self-martyring again, right?"

"You're learning."


	3. Three: Fragile Loyalties

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin

**Chapter Three: Fragile Loyalties**

_King's Landing, (late) 2008_

"I don't care how much he wants me there, I already said no!"

The irritated shout echoed through the small studio apartment, causing the man it was directed toward to almost shrink back at the ferocity of the scowl the outburst of temper was reflected in.

Jon Connington regarded the young man before him with sour resignation. He had never been fond of his best friend and employer's younger son, seeing him instead to be a gauche antithesis to everything he admired so greatly in Rhaegar. Jon Snow had neither Rhaegar's look nor his charisma...perhaps his intellect, but the boy was wasteful of his gifted mind. A handsome lad, yes, but that dour Northern coloring carried none of Rhaegar's silver beauty.

Even his name, once a point a pride for the elder Jon when Rhaegar mentioned the infant being named in his honor, had soured when he found out Rhaegar's mistress hadn't actually allowed Rhaegar any say in the child's naming. The child was instead the namesake of Lyanna's deceased father. Add in the fact that the brat was blatantly resentful of the father he should have felt nothing but gratitude toward, and his disapproval of the boy ran deep.

Connington sighed, rubbing irritably at his beard, tiredly familiar with the boy's habit of declining family dinner invitations. "Will you be declining to attend your brother's birthday event as well?"

"I have plenty of choice words you can convey to Aegon, but sure, let's go with that."

"Thank you for the consideration," Connington replied dryly. He ignored Snow rolling his eyes and continued on. "I do have a message from Miss Myrcella. She's foreseen your rejected, and sends her greetings. She and young Visenya miss your presence at the house."

The mention of his sister-in-law and two-year-old niece always managed to break through the stubborn defenses surrounding Snow, and Connington knew it. Snow's eyes softened and he sighed. He tossed aside the textbook that had been resting in his lap and got to his feet. "Would you wait a second?"

"Of course." Connington couldn't help adding an edge of sarcasm to his words. "As Master Snow requests."

"Don't call me that," Snow retorted sharply, crossing the small space to open the only visible closet in the tiny flat. "Rhaegar's the master. Aegon's the heir. I'm just the bastard."

Connington didn't voice any disagreement, his expression full of condescension Jon was rankled to see. He shoved a package in Connington's arms, its newspaper wrapping gaining a sneer from the older man that had Jon wishing he could ram his fist into the prig's smug face. "Give this to Cella, tell her it's for Vi. Now get the hell out."

"As you wish, Master Snow."

"I told you not to call me that!"

The shout fell on deaf ears, as the door clicked shut behind Connington, leaving Jon alone with the silence and his own frustration. He growled low in his throat, snatching the textbook from the couch and slamming it into the wall. He collapsed into a chair and dropped his head into his hands.

He knew it was a mistake to come back to King's Landing. He'd always known that, but he hadn't had a choice in the matter and he hated Rhaegar for that. Maybe Winterfell felt emptier since Sansa had left to attend school in the Vale, but it was still his home, and right now, home was far away.

The dull thud against the wall was audible in the hallway and Connington shook his head exasperatingly. He fumbled through his pockets intent on finding his cell phone, already dreading telling Rhaegar his son's reaction to the invitation.

Preoccupied as he was, he did not look up until it was too late, colliding with a slight form coming from the opposite direction. Connington blinked several times as he picked up an expensive-looking bag and handed it to the woman, apologizing profusely for his blunder.

"It's alright, really, Mr. Connington."

Blinking with surprise at the sound of his name, Connington focused and caught his first real glimpse of the woman, her vaguely familiar features clicking into place in his mind. Margaery Tyrell was a beautiful young woman, immaculately put together, and possessing a refined air befitting her social status. He had seen her on Snow's arm at numerous events, and just like each of those times, Connington had no idea what a woman like Miss Tyrell could possibly see in Jon Snow.

"Hello, Miss Tyrell. I should warn you, young Master Snow's being a bit temperamental. He's likely in a poor mood to entertain."

"Ah." She smiled, falsely and politely, her eyes locked on the door to Snow's apartment. Her manner was as dismissive as societal expectation would allow. "I'm sure I can think of a way to better his mood."

"Of course," was Connington's noncommittal reply, respectfully inclining his head before continuing his trudge down the corridor.

It turned out, much to Margaery's surprise (and displeasure), Master Snow was not at thrilled to see her.

"Margaery," he greeted gruffly, clearly irritated at the interruption and regretting not locking the door after Connington left. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in Dorne."

Inwardly annoyed at his lack of enthusiasm to her arrival, Margaery put on her best smile, setting her purse aside to perch on the arm of his chair. Jon's eyes narrowed at the hand she laid against his arm.

Her smile turned lascivious. "I was, but...Dornish boys lost their exotic appeal too quickly. I found myself craving the company of someone...a little _closer_ to home." She trailed her fingers down his chest, watching him through hooded, come-hither eyes that once upon a time, drew his attention and his arousal, but now, only served to heighten his irritation.

He batted her hand away. "I'm sorry you got bored so easily, but I told you a month ago, I'm not up for this anymore. Go find some other toy."

Women like Margaery Tyrell were dangerous, and not for the first time, Jon cursed himself for ever getting involved with her. She was a rare breed among Westerosi blue-bloods, neither air-headed or helplessly spoiled. She was clever, cunning though she tried to hide it beneath a superficial veneer, but Jon could see through to the ambition underneath. For all he knew, the real Margaery could be warm and kind, playful or serious, but he had no idea. She would never let him know.

He had been introduced to Margaery after befriending her brother Willas at university. After asking her to accompany him to a charity dinner and watching her effortlessly charm the room, she had been his plus one to several events his father had forced him to attend. Eventually, he'd allowed himself to be seduced, ending those evenings in an emotionless physicality that seemed to suit them both.

Guilt over such an arrangement, going against everything his aunt and uncle had taught him about love and sexuality, eventually caught up to him and he ended things. He had no idea why Margaery was showing a renewed interest now, and he didn't have the energy or the patience to find out.

The brevity of his dismissal did not settle well with Margaery, and the yelling match that followed left Jon with more of a headache than before. Hearing his door slam hard enough to shake the walls, he nursed his pounding head in the palm of his hand, wearily eying the literature textbook still lying on the floor. He was only twenty-two, wasn't he? He felt so much older.

He never should have come back to King's Landing.

xx

Aegon Targaryen had always been a well-settled man, confident in his dealings and the path set out before him, in business and family alike. He was Rhaegar Targaryen's heir, the dutiful true-born son, magnanimous in the business world and well-respected as the eventual successor to Targaryen International.

Everything had been set up perfectly. His life was soundly structured, adhering completely to his father and grandfather's expectations. He did as he was told and expected to excel as a result, but life seemed to have a funny aversion to holding itself in perfect order.

Jon. That was the name of the irritating little roadblock threatening his position and everything he'd worked so hard for. Years before, when he learned of the bastard spawn's existence, he hadn't been bothered, only indignant on his mother's part as he watched the resulting mess it caused their marriage.

When the younger boy came to live at Dragonstone, from two to eight, he spent those six years brushing the other child off as the very pest he was. It wasn't that hard to do. He and Rhaenys had already fostered a practiced indifference regarding one another at that age. When Rhaegar finally gave up and sent Jon to Winterfell in order to live with his mother's family, Aegon barely batted an eyelash.

No, none of those preceding events unsettled him, not even when Rhaegar called the bastard back south with some blackmail concerning his college tuition. He should have noticed then, his father's sudden heightened interest in his younger son. Aegon should have smelled the foul in the air, but instead foolishly kept his attention elsewhere.

But this…this was breaking the last straw on the camel's back. Rhaegar had been planning for a very long time, well-aware of Jon's disdain for his paternal relations. He had slowly, so very slowly, wormed in his way back into Jon's life, forcing summer visits, event appearances, coming to King's Landing to finish school under the threat of his tuition being cut off. Jon, stubborn fool that he was, wasn't noticing the subtle changes as the years passed.

Rhaegar was slowly, deftly, grooming the bastard into the family fold. This was ever more blatant by the announcement Rhaegar gave his eldest son the day before- that Jon was to be granted a generous inheritance, including both a hefty trust fund and shares in the Targaryens' global import and export empire.

The cool, detached composure Aegon was known for suffered its first major crack that afternoon, and that crack was only growing the more time he had to seethe.

"Well, well…Aegon Targaryen, this isn't exactly the kind of place I'd expect you to frequent."

Aegon looked up through bleary eyes, their indigo darkened and distant with the effects of the alcohol in his system, to take in the features of a woman standing before him. Margaery Tyrell responded to his searching gaze with a coy smile, sliding onto the stool beside him. He shrugged finally, averting his attention back to the drink nursed in his hands, idly swirling the amber liquid in the shot glass.

She was right, he supposed; the hotel the bar was located in was not at low-class, but not exactly the ritzy status Aegon made a habit of showing his face at. "Appearances can always be deceiving, Miss Tyrell."

She smiled again as she gave her drink order to the bartender. "I suppose you're right. I don't mind this kind of atmosphere myself. Comfortable…but…" and she let her gaze roam over him, discretion non-existent in the clear appreciation of her gaze, "Wonderfully secluded. A place to keep your head down, yes?"

"If it's seduction you're trying for, I believe you have the wrong brother."

She made a face at the mention of the bastard, chasing the expression with a hearty swallow of her drink, "Spare me, Aegon. Jon's proved himself more boy that man. While you," and her voice dropped to a near-purr, crossing her legs under a short-hemmed skirt, "You are more man than most women could handle."

His eyes darkened. He turned to face her, cocking an eyebrow with interest. "I take it you're not most women?"

"Exactly. Though I must say it is a pity, a fine specimen of your kind, tied down to your sweet-faced virgin back home…" Her eyes dropped to his wedding ring, amusement coloring her tone.

"Not a virgin anymore. Trust me."

"Perhaps not since the wedding night, but before, I have little doubt." She cocked her head, sliding a hand against the V-shape formed at his collar, idly tracing a nail down the exposed skin. Aegon growled under his breath.

"And I hear she's pregnant again. Congratulations. Another girl, do you think?"

Aegon's mind raced for a moment, remembering the ultrasound film in his wallet, denoting the disappointing sex of his second child, another girl instead of the heir he wanted. The weight of the ring on his finger seemed to disappear.

He felt the metallic texture of the key Margaery slid into his hand and he drained his glass, murmuring to the bartender for the check.


	4. Four: Wintry Kisses

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin  
**Chapter Four: Wintry Kisses**

_King's Landing, 2008_

"On a scale of one to ten, how much do you miss me?"

Jon grinned at the voice greeting him on the other end of the line. He hummed softly under his breath, his voice underlain with mock indecision. "I dunno, Freckles. Somewhere in the negatives, I think."

"Jon!" she exclaimed indignantly. His smile grew into a full-blown grin at the sound, and he wasn't able to hold back a chuckle. "You jerk," she huffed.

"Brat."

She giggled. "Are you just going to keep arguing, or do you want to know how much I miss you?"

Jon's mirth immediately melted away. "You miss me?" he asked incredulously, unable to stop his voice from cracking at the last word.

"Of course." There was a pause, and then her voice returned laced with genuine confusion, "Did you think I wouldn't?"

He hesitated. "I...I wasn't sure, with everything that happened with us last time..." he trailed off, not eager to relive the details by voicing them.

She sighed softly, responding with a tender reassurance. "Jon. We both know we need to talk. I love you too much to let this keep going."

Jon smiled. "I know that, I do. I'm just feel...I don't know, insecure or something."

"You really shouldn't," she lightly chided, "Not with us."

"Not with us," he confirmed, "And for the record, I love you too."

"Always picking the right moment to all soft and sweet, Snow."

"Only for you. I do have a reputation to upkeep."

He looked up at the sharp rapping that came at the door to the cramped office he was sitting in. Recognizing the figures on the other side of the glass, Jon waved them. Following instructions, Samwell Tarly, Grenn Stanley, and Pypar Altin piled into the tiny room.

Jon sighed regretfully. "I hate to cut this short, Freckles, but the guys are here. We're supposed to have dinner."

"Alright, if you have to. Talk to you soon?"

"Definitely. I'll be seeing you soon, remember?"

"How could I forget? Trust me, I've been looking forward to that for months." Her words near the end were spoken quietly, shy and soft with affection. Jon smiled, and though he never would admit such an unmanly thing aloud, in that instant, his heart warmed and surely melted at the endearment of her feelings.

"Me too…" He closed his eyes, envisioning her in his mind, and ached to have her there. But he would, soon. He just had to have patience. Patience was something he had been lacking for the past year of their estrangement, but with the promise of Sansa coming back into his life, it was a virtue he could quickly put into practice again.

They shared goodbyes and another promise that they would talk soon. As Jon clicked off his cellphone and turned his head, he found his friends staring at him, Sam looking confused, Grenn and Pyp grinning. Pyp arched his eyebrows suggestively and nudged the stocky man beside him. "Someone's been holding out on us, Grenn."

Grenn's sly smile cut strangely through his thick facial hair. "Aye, I think you're right."

Pyp nodded with false solemnity, making a show out of tapping a finger against his chin in thought. "It would take a special something to make our serious Lord Snow smile like that."

"Or someone."

Jon kept his face decisively neutral, making a show of solely focusing on pulling on his winter gear. Sam glanced bemusedly the three of them, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Right...um...was that Sansa you were talking to, Jon?"

There was a prolonged moment of heavy silence in the room as they all processed the words. With his back to his friends, Jon sighed, returning to tying the scarf around his neck even as he felt the realization set in for Grenn and Pyp.

Grenn scratched at his beard, tilting his head toward Jon thoughtfully. "That's the girl you told us about, right? The night we finally managed to get you plastered."

Jon winced with embarrassment, at his vague memories of that night. He had landed a much coveted position as the TA to Professor Jeor Mormont, and the others had insisted they celebrate. Jon had been on cloud nine, and therefore too distracted to keep himself in check with the crowd plying him with drinks. According to Sam, he ended up spilling most of the sordid details about his history with Sansa when the four of them returned to Jon's apartment later.

Still not meeting anyone's eyes as he grabbed his keys and began hustling the other men out of the office, he only offered a simple nod in reply.

"That's all you're going to say?" Pyp teased as Jon shut off the light and locked up the room, "The object of all your angst and longing, all the hemming and hawing, calls you, and all you can do is nod and sigh?"

Jon rolled his eyes. "You're being a little overdramatic, don't you think?"

Grenn snorted. "You didn't hear yourself that night, Snow."

Jon's cheeks burned.

"Pack it in, guys," Sam chided, "Let's just go grab something to eat. I'm sure we've all had long days."

Successfully distracted, Pyp agreed with an exaggeratedly pained moan. "Tell me about it. I've been running lines all day with my co-lead's understudy's understudy. This thing's a disaster waiting to happen."

The others made vague sounds of sympathy as they walked out into the brisk air of the late winter afternoon. "So your spring play's been decided?" Jon asked.

"_Wroth of the Dragonlords. _The producer has a thing for Phario Forel."

Jon noticed the discomforted face Sam made at the mention of the play. "First years still not showing any enthusiasm for the Rhonyar, Sam?"

"No," Sam replied morosely. Jon could empathize. As a teaching assistant, it wasn't as though he dreaded first-year classes, it was more a matter of struggling to create any interest in students only taking the class as a requirement or something to fill in their elective credits.

Jon patted his shoulder sympathetically. "There's a reason why the professors get to teach the upper levels, and they leave the others to us poor grad students."

"Hear, hear," Grenn grunted. Jon smirked at that, knowing the older man was thinking of the constant repairs he made to the machines whose maintenance was Grenn's responsibility, perpetuated by amateur engineering students.

Sam had been the first of the trio Jon befriended after moving to King's Landing to do his graduate studies. They were part of the same program, focused on ancient Westerosi history, and though they had gotten along working together as teaching assistants, it was after Jon had learned of Sam's background that they truly began to bond. Or, it may be more accurate to say, it was only then that Jon allowed himself to open up to his new friend. They were both outcasts of the blue blood elite, Jon illegitimate, Sam disinherited, and it was only right that the friends they attracted after were misfits as well.

Sam had helped the drama department with accurate costuming for a historical play they had done, and it was through that project that he met Pyp, an eccentric but talented mummer who had been practically raised in theatre.

The old building where the history offices were located at a year ago, before they had finally been moved, had faulty heating, and constantly staying late working had led to Jon making daily conversation with the maintenance man, Grenn. Grenn was a few years their senior, a hardworking blue-collar man with a talent for machinery that had earned him scholarship money to take engineering classes at the university he worked for.

Everyone was introduced to everyone else, and the rest was history. Jon treasured the camaraderie, enjoyed the other men's good humors and natures, appreciated the comfort and advice of confidantes when life began stressful. Especially for subjects like Sansa, one he hadn't acknowledged he needed to talk about until that night he drunkenly confessed. He was still shocked his friends understood as much as they did, considering the situation still confused Jon and he was one half of the relationship.

"So how is she?"

Jon blinked as Grenn's question caught him off-guard, pulling him from his thoughts. "Who?"

Pyp rolled his eyes. "Who else? Your Sansa."

"She's not _my _Sansa. And she's fine. She seems to be enjoying herself."

"And you?" Sam asked, giving him a wry glance. "How are you dealing with her all the way in the Vale?"

"Yeah, it's still pretty rough on you having her so far away, isn't it?"

"And wasn't earlier the first time you've talked in months?"

"Guys." Jon appreciated the concern. He really did. But he was hungry, tired, and starting to feel cornered more than anything.

The others shared a look, and decided to change directions. "Is she still coming here first when winter break starts?" Sam asked breezily.

As expected, Jon's expression visibly brightened. "Yep. She's flying in on Friday."

"You've been giddy at the prospect for weeks," Pyp slyly commented.

Jon arched an eyebrow as they finally came to the restaurant. "Giddy?" he scoffed, holding the door open from the others.

"Alright, maybe not giddy. You brood too much to get giddy. But still," Pyp stopped in the doorway, dramatically placed a hand over his heart and rested the other one against Jon's shoulder, "In the name of friendship, our brotherhood-"

"I wouldn't claim you as family even if we were blood-related," Jon replied dryly. Sam watched with no small amount of amusement and Grenn ignored them all as he approached the hostess.

"Shut up. I'm trying to make a point here."

"Alright, alright."

"As I was saying, I'm personally glad to see you with a little happy in your life. I was honestly starting to think you weren't actually capable of smiling."

Jon only rolled his eyes in reply.

_Winterfell, 1999_

He remembers their first kiss.

It had snowed that day, heavily, the first real snow of the season, and Sansa had been in a tizzy of excitement. Jon would remember clearly just how bright her eyes were, how pretty her face with the excited animation of an anticipating smile.

He remembered the two of them being caught and scolded by Uncle Ned just before they ran out together through the front door, made to dress in coat and hats and gloves before going out into the snowfall. Sansa had been jittery, agitatedly impatient as she waited for him to finish the buttons on his coat, grabbing his hand and tugging him along behind her as they raced out the door.

The snow had covered the ground in a sea of pure, breathtaking white. He had watched Sansa dancing under the slow fall of fat snowflakes, her fiery hair whirling around her, and he was struck speechless by the sight. He had watched the glow of excitement she held, the enraptured expression, the pure joy softening her eyes, and he was awed.

She had tugged at his hand, pulling him with her into the strange, spinning dance. It had been a strange feeling, a feeling of freedom, a sensation of flying as he whirled around with his arms around her, elation filling him.

He did not remember who had lost their balance, but they were so tightly wrapped around one another that gravity took its toll, sent them both plummeting toward the ground. He had managed to cushion her fall, landing on his back with a distinct plopping sound, Sansa landing hard against his chest a second later.

Steadying her hands against his shoulders, she had leaned up, paused, and stared down at him with an unreadable expression. He remembers to this day the sudden tightening in his chest, the painful catch to his breath.

As she studied him, whether she was conscious of it or not, she had begun to lean forward, and suddenly all of his senses were overwhelmed, by large blue eyes, by the rosy blush painting her cheeks, by the warm breath mingling in the cold air between them.

She had come so close, her lashes brushed against his skin with a feather-light touch, a butterfly kiss, and then her lips had softly brushed against his, a real kiss.

The fragile moment was shattered a moment later, as a shout came from the house, Uncle Ned calling them in for lunch, and Sansa had sprang away from him, looking terrified, and raced back toward the house.

He remembered lying motionless in the snow, his mind racing, staring unseeing at the skies above and left wondering.

He had been thirteen, Sansa ten, and it was the end of their childhood friendship. They may have drifted apart after elementary, but they had been friendly then, and it was that day that ended any sort of familiarity between the. At least, until Sansa's teenage years, when tension had built between them and then exploded spectacularly.

He recognized all too well that they had fallen into old patterns of behavior, and to avoid repeating years of estrangement, something had to change.

He couldn't lose her again.


	5. Five: A Turning Point

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin

**Five: A Turning Point**

Notes: This chapter contains **A TRIGGER WARNING FOR DISCUSSION OF SEXUAL ASSAULT (I.E. NONCONSENSUAL KISSING). READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.**

_Winterfell, Summer 2007_****

He was twenty-one, Sansa eighteen, when the mounting tension between them reached its pinnacle.

"Jon!"

Jon jogged across the parking lot toward the source of the shout, two young brunettes huddled around a familiar ginger-haired figure seated on the steps in front of a dorm.

He frowned with concern as he approached them, expression darkening as he took in Sansa's weary look. He knelt before her, checking her over though she refused to look at her. He let out an exasperated breath, but understood. He recognized the signs that she was shutting down emotionally, putting her guard up to protect herself.

He reached out to her, but she leaned away and he surrendered, not wanting to push her. He dropped a kiss to her hair, straightening up to face her companions. His protective instincts rose even further as he felt the worry and fear practically radiating from the teenagers.

"Jeyne, Beth, what about you two? Are you alright?"

Both nodded, and while Jeyne looked more composed than the other two, Beth appeared close to tears. Jon opened his arms and she flew into them, burying her face in his shirt as he held her. Jon soothingly petted her hair. "Have you called someone?"

Beth sniffled and nodded against his chest. "Yeah. I called Jory. He's coming to get us." Jon nodded approvingly. The Cassels had been working at Stark Steel for generations, and Jon had seen enough of the family growing up to know Jory, like his uncle, was an honest, trustworthy man.

Beth drew back, wiped away her tears and gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you."

"Anytime." The three girls had been friends since preschool. Beth and Jeyne had grown up as frequent fixtures in the Stark household. It was only natural he develop the big brother mentality for them that he couldn't drum up for Sansa anymore (his protectiveness for her was of an entirely different kind now).

Jon looked around, proud to see they had gotten themselves into a well-lit area, within view of a parked campus security car. He frowned with thought as he spotted a woman with striking green hair exchanging a few words with an (incredibly tall) officer, then jog toward them across the parking lot. She frowned suspiciously at Jon but glanced pointedly at Beth standing beside him, her body language comfortable, and seemed to relax, instead turning her attention to Sansa by crouching beside her.

"Everything's settled, Sansa. I've sweet-talked Toregg over there," Jon blinked with surprise as he glanced over and recognized that the security guard was indeed, Toregg Giantsbane, who gave him a nod of recognition, "Into letting us wait until morning to go in to file the report. That way, we shouldn't have to make any mention of you girls being here."

Sansa looked up, her manner hesitant and her eyes watery. "Are you sure? I don't wanna get any of you in trouble." 

"I'm sure," the older girl affirmed, reaching over to take Sansa's hands, "That creep's had plenty of incidents around campus already. A whole roomful of people saw him this time. He'll get disciplinary action. Lyra, Alys and I will make sure of it."

"Even Alys?"

The green-haired woman huffed. "Of course Alys. We've known you since you were in diapers, sweetie. Cousin or not, Alys isn't going to let Cregan get away with this, and she's got Daryn and her brothers behind her. We'll take care of everything, hon."

Sansa sighed with relief and smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Wylla."

Jon's startled eyes met Wylla Manderly's and she arched a wry blonde brow. "Jon Snow. Long time no see. It's the hair, right? Green's working for me, though, so you should probably get used to it."

Jon tried to smile, though the expression came out as more of a grimace, and he quietly agreed.

Wylla studied him thoughtfully for a moment and then turned back to Sansa, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze before releasing them. "Jon, I believe Sansa's purse is still upstairs. Would you be a dear and go fetch it for her?"

There was a knowing glint in her eyes, one that told him she had been able to read exactly what he had been thinking despite his best intentions. His face hardened at the implications, unable to suppress his twisted satisfaction at the implicit permission. He cleared his throat, nodded curtly, and placed a hand on Sansa's shoulder. She finally looked up at him, eyes red and makeup smeared from her tears. He dropped a kiss to her head and she breathed out a soft whisper of his name.

"Be back soon, Freckles. I promise."

Wylla handed him a key and he bounded off, taking the stairs two at a time. The rage had grown and grown from the moment he got the call from Jeyne, and it was a pressure valve ready to explode as he came to the common room, reeking of cigarettes and cheap beer. He saw red the moment he spotted Cregan Karstark, slumped over on a couch, surrounded by his furious cousins. Alys especially seemed to be on a tirade, fiercely lecturing and looking as if the only thing keeping her from pouncing was Torrhen and Daryn Hornwood holding her back.

Unfortunately, Jon did not have the same restraint, for as soon as he stalked into the room, he jerked the inebriated fratboy by his shirt and slammed him into the wall.

In the end, it took Cley Cerwyn and Harrion Karstark to pull him off Cregan. Afterward, the ride home in his truck was quiet. Sansa didn't say a word to him other than to direct him to turn right rather than the left that would have brought them to her family home, so instead he drove the long way to his own, Sansa making no objection. The moment he turned off the ignition, she rushed out of the car and into the house (he'd forgotten to lock it in his haste to get to her). Besides Jon's unassuming presence, the house was otherwise empty, Uncle Ned having taken advantage of the summer break to take Arya on a visit to her mother's family in Dorne. So when Sansa shut herself in the bathroom, Jon didn't object and let her be.

A few minutes later, his cell chimed with a text, her straightforward request leading to him nonchalantly raiding the linen closet and neatly changing the sheets on his bed. He dug through his bureau before he came across a pair of sweats and t-shirt he hadn't worn in years. He had always been tall, but hadn't grown an inch since he was seventeen, instead broadening in frame and filling out after he started lifting weights with Robb their junior year. Since Sansa's last growth spurt had her level with his chin, the clothes would be a decent fit. He laid them out on the end of the bed and went about making himself a place to sleep on the living room couch.

He waited patiently, flipping half-heartedly through a book when she walked into the room about twenty minutes later. She had washed away her makeup and pulled back her hair, and was now approaching looking cautious and hesitant. Jon smiled reassuringly, setting his novel on the coffee table and it only took a moment before she was in his arms. For a long silence, he just held her, Sansa nestled against him, her ear pressed to his chest to listen to the strong, steady beat of his heart.

"I'm sorry, Jon."

"What could you possibly have to be sorry for?"

"I wasn't careful enough. I've was trying to do everything you and Robb told me to. I stayed with my friends, I got my own drinks, but then I slipped up. I went into the kitchen to get another soda, and the kitchen was empty...He just kinda stumbled in. I could tell he was drunk, so I tried to ignore him and get back to the common room, but then he asked for a kiss. I said no and he didn't like it."

His jaw clenched, but he held his temper, resting his head atop of hers and just let her talk. "He grabbed my arm and kissed me. He was rough..." 

His body grew stiff and taut with tension as he anticipated her next words. "That was as far as he got. Lyra and Alys came in. They pulled him off, and it didn't go any further." She felt him relax and the relief was almost infectious, though when Jon unconsciously tightened his arms around her she was still glad for it. She had always liked the way Jon held her, firmly enough for her to truly feel him, to feel grounded and safe, but with an undeniable gentleness in every gesture, letting her know she could easily break the embrace if she so desired.

Jon sensed she was finished with her narration, and he stroked a hand through her hair, carding his fingers through the auburn tresses with a casual affection that warmed her nearly as much as his proximity. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Sansa. You didn't do anything wrong."

He continued. "I'm so sorry this happened to you, honey. I wish we lived in a world where you could be in a room alone without having to worry, or not have to watch your drink. I really, really do, but even if we don't, you need to know this isn't your fault." He cupped her chin, coaxing her to meet his eyes. "Okay?"

She nodded firmly. "Okay." She placed a hand over his, turning his knuckles so she could better see the contusions there. Jon was gratified to see no judgment in her eyes, instead she leaned in to press a kiss to the bruised joints. An understanding passed between them and Jon's lips upturned into a rare smile.

Satisfied, Sansa returned to her place nestled against him. Still, there was a nagging feeling she couldn't quite dismiss, and Jon was probably the best listener in her life. "Is there something wrong with me, Jon?"

Jon was startled but quick to respond. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"

She sighed softly. "Harry. Joffrey," they both pulled a face at the mention of the atrocity that had been her relationship with Joffrey Baratheon-Lannister, the son of Ned's childhood friend Robert. They had been introduced the previous year's summer break when business had brought Ned to King's Landing for a month, and he had taken Sansa and Robb with him. Sansa's fling with Joffrey was brought to an abrupt halt the moment the little shit dared to raise his hand to Ned's beloved niece. Robb broke the bastard's nose, Baratheon Security lost its contract with Stark Steel and Ned and Robert's friendship never recovered.

Jon kissed her head. "It's not you, sweetheart. It's those idiots who are too stupid to see your worth."

"Still...I've felt like Cregan made me feel tonight. Harry and Joff, they didn't care. They would try to touch me and it was just for them, not me. It's never for me. It's supposed to feel good, isn't it?"

He thought back to the few kisses they had shared over time. Excluding the chaste peck Sansa had given him when they were kids, their kisses on her family's porch that day four years before had been intense, passionate. The thought of them still made him flinch when he thought of how young she had been, how innocent, and not of the first time, he wished it had been different. If he had been gentle, taken his time and been sweet and slow, would she have a better memory to associate with intimacy?

Later, he would reinterate these thoughts for Sansa. She would sigh, reminding him how she had initiated and liked his kisses, and thus would be begin the familiar reprimand of Jon being self-martyring. For now, Sansa was oblivious to his inner struggle, propping herself up against his chest so she could properly look down at him.

Jon was wary but his will was weak against Sansa, and he knew he would be answering the questions filling her eyes no matter how awkward. "The girls you've dated. They liked being with you, didn't they?"

He winced at the reminder of Ygritte and Val. His first hookup with Ygritte had been such a blatant rebound from his attraction to Sansa he still wondered how no one else had noticed, but while it was the red hair and the fact that she was older that had attracted him, it was Ygritte's fire and spirit, so different from Sansa's shy reserve, that had him falling in love. Val had been a fling after their breakup, ice to Ygritte's fire. He and Sansa had remained friends through it all, perfectly platonic without much awkwardness...until now, anyway.

"I certaintly hope so," he finally replied, "I wouldn't be right if I didn't please them too."

She nodded and whispered her next comment, so softly he nearly couldn't hear. But he did...oh, gods, did he hear it.

"I bet you would make it good for me. I _know_ you'd do it right."

He choked with surprise, staring at her with wide eyes as she returned his gaze, strangely calm. She leaned down, so suddenly he didn't have time to stop her, and kissed him. Fireworks, cliché as it sounded, was the only way to describe the feelings that coursed through him the moment their lips met.

He groaned throatily when Sansa kissed him assuredly, licking at his lips before slipping her tongue into his mouth. She made soft, pleased sounds as he buried one hand in her hair, the other caressing her side.

She leaned into him, hips pressing into his; the moment she felt her hand under his shirt, curiously skating across his abdomen, he pulled back, staring at her with glazed, bewildered eyes. "Sansa, honey, we really shouldn't. This isn't right."

"Why not?" She kissed his neck, nuzzling against his jaw. "I trust you, Jon. No one cares as much as you do besides my family. And I know you find me attractive. Why can't we?"

She kissed him again, nipping at his bottom lip, and Jon's eyes practically rolled back into his head, a flush of shame warming his face when he felt himself start to harden. "Sansa, no...I don't want to take advantage."

"Jon." She cupped his face and levelled their eyes, Tully blue eyes clear and decisive as they peered into his. "Cregan Karstark doesn't deserve to take this from me. If you really don't want this, I'll let it go. But if you do, please. "

He took in a deep breath, his mind racing. He knew he was giving in, no matter all the reasons he knew he shouldn't be. But looking into her eyes, he knew his decision had already been made.

He kissed her once more and his fate was sealed.


	6. Six: Cleansing

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin

_Notes: I'm upping the rating as of this chapter. This chapter, my dear readers, is pretty much all about sex. If frank, mature discussion about sex__makes you uncomfortable, this probably isn't your chapter. Also contains actual sexual content. __**READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. **_

_**Betaing credit for this chapter goes to the wonderful MerMarie. **__  
_  
**Chapter Six: Cleansing**

Jon couldn't remember the last time he had spent so long kissing for the sake of kissing. Deep, slow kisses that made him shiver and shake and ache to his very core. It took every ounce of his willpower to slow them down, but there were things they needed to discuss. Sansa pouted but agreed, and perched on his lap waiting patiently for him to speak, arms still looped around his neck, hair mussed and lips swollen from kisses, she was the prettiest distraction he'd ever seen.

"First off, I want you to know that I have one important priority here. You. I want you to feel and be safe and comfortable. Okay? To do that, we need to be honest and upfront with each other." He reached up to cup her cheek. "You can ask or tell me anything. Nothing you say will be wrong, alright?"

Sansa nodded, and Jon chuckled at the earnest look on her face. "Good girl," he murmured fondly, before his mind caught up with the words and he realized the implications of what he'd said. It reminded him of something he might say to Arya in jest as he patted her head, watching her glare at him from beneath that mess of hair.

(Or worse yet- the timing, not the experience- a memory of himself, hands bound and eyes blindfolded, Ygritte's throaty voice whispering, "Good boy," in his ear)

He cleared his throat and immediately wanted to apologize, but then noticed the subtle flush to Sansa's face, the way her eyes had darkened. _Oh_. Well, isn't that interesting. He arched a brow, intrigued, and grazed his thumb over the lip she was coyly biting. She parted them at his touch, kissing the tip of his thumb. Jon smiled. Interesting, indeed, but something for another time.

"I meant what I said about wanting you safe, and being upfront with one another. You should know I'm clean. I haven't been with anyone since the last time the maester cleared me." She blinked and he cupped her chin, gently tilting her head up until her eyes met his. "You alright? You look confused."

She nodded, brow furrowed with thought. "I'm fine. I just...I guess I wasn't expecting..." she trailed off, uncertain how to word her puzzlement.

"Not very romantic, huh?" he murmured self-deprecatingly, but she shook her head, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"It's sweet. You're looking out for me. You did say we were being honest and upfront." She smiled up at him shyly. "So...I've never seen you date much. What made you decide..."

"Uncle Ned. Couple years back, when he found out about Robb and Jeyne, he dragged us both to the clinic."

He made a face as he remembered first time and last time he had ever seen Ned Stark truly lose his temper. It had been their senior year, when Robb's girlfriend Jeyne had become pregnant. Catelyn had been devastated, Brandon Sr. had been indifferent, and it was that last reaction that caused Ned's anger. Reportedly, Brandon had barely reacted beyond offering the Westerlings money to "make the problem go away" and Ned had been furious, especially after he discovered Brandon had neglected to ever give Robb a proper safe sex talk. Ned's scathing criticism of his brother's parenting skills (something Jon suspected had been building for years) had led to shouting, which led to fists flying, and even the birth of little Rickard a few months later couldn't heal the resulting rift between the two Stark patriarchs.

Jon shook off the memory with a sigh and continued. "I...um..." He hesitated, and then there was a faint blush to his cheeks, so light it likely wouldn't have been visible but for the fairness of his skin. Its appearance both astonished and charmed her and she smiled. "I was still a virgin then, but I went as moral support for Robb and I added the tests in my annual physical after that."

Some other time he would tell her about the experience, about how, despite how uncomfortable and embarrassed he and Robb had been by the whole thing, it was the memory of how much Ned cared that was the strongest for both boys. Just one of dozens of instances where Ned Stark had been more of a father to them both than either of their sires.

"I meant it when I said I want you safe. I have condoms- proper ones, right size, good brand, so they're not likely to tear or slip, but I'm not taking any risks with you. Are you on any kind of birth control?"

From his first time with Ygritte, Jon had been attentive to, sometimes overly so, taking contraceptive measures. He had lived with the stigma of being an unplanned, unwanted child his entire life. He would never be able to live with himself if he condemned any child of his to that fate, or derailed Sansa's bright future that way.

Sansa flushed a bright red, but confirmed she was with a shy nod. "Yes. I'm on the pill."

"Is that a recent development?"

"No." She paused and though a lovely pink still dusted her cheeks, her demeanor shifted, as she straightened and lifted her chin to look him more directly in the eye. "Since I was fourteen. To regulate my moon's blood."

Jon was pleased to see her earlier confidence return. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was make decisions for her, but if she had continued to be embarrassed or uncomfortable, he would have put a stop to things right then and there. She might have resented the decision, but absolutely nothing could convince him she was ready for this if he sensed any kind of discomfort beyond general nerves.

"Good." He was unable to resist leaning forward for a quick peck, one she accepted with a little happy hum. Those fingers dallying in his hair throughout their discussion was a pleasant but distracting sensation, especially when her nails grazed against the sensitive skin on the back of his neck. "That just leaves one last thing. Are you sure you wanna do this now, Sansa? I need to report for Annual Training* in less than a week. This...sex, especially your first time, can be very emotional. I don't want to be out of touch if you need me in any way."

Sansa nodded. She had known Jon's training schedule for years, ever since he'd left for Basic when he was eighteen, mostly from Robb's complaints over the years about how Jon didn't come home often enough.

She remembered how after he graduated, Jon had wanted to go straight to boot camp and into active duty, but Benjen and Ned had objected, insisting that he pursue either some form of higher learning or technical training first. Jon grudgingly acquiesced and retaliated by attending Castle Black, a military college to the far north of Winterfell and resolved to make his way through school as quickly as possible by taking classes all year round.

In fact, this was the first summer Jon had been home since leaving for college, and only because he had quietly finished his degree that spring.

Sansa bit her lip, hesitating. She had been so certain before, but now, the events of the night were starting to catch up with her, and she felt incredibly weary. She sighed, and let her head fall to Jon's shoulder. "Could I sleep on it?" she asked, her exhaustion heavy in her voice. 

"Of course." She felt the warmth of his lips against her temple and she smiled softly. "Can you make it to my room or do you want me to carry you?"

"I can walk." She nuzzled into his neck, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn. "Stay with me?"

He kissed her cheek, and carefully helped her to her feet. "Always."

Saturday saw morning light spilling through the open window, filling the room with a brilliant glow that washed over the bodies comfortably entwined on the bed. Jon's face, briefly lax with sleep, twitched as he involuntarily roused, throwing a hand over his eyes to ward off the offending illumination. He was habitually a early riser and knew he wouldn't be able to drift back off, so he carefully withdrew his arms from around a peaceful Sansa and reluctantly rolled away from her tempting warmth.

There was no harm in leaving her to sleep, not when Uncle Ned had timed his and Arya's vacation with Jon leaving for training. He scribbled down a note and went for a run, making his usual circuit before returning to the house an hour later. He heard no sound from the bedroom or kitchen, so he thoughtlessly walked straight into the hallway bathroom and was struck deer-in-the-headlights frozen when he was presented with Sansa's naked back.

His mouth dropped open, speech far from a coherent option as only a strangled sound came from his throat. It caught her attention and she whirled around to face him, eyes wide as she quickly wrapped herself in the nearest towel. He inwardly lectured himself, but could not tear his eyes away, taking in the slivers of smooth, fair skin still exposed, the beginning of the swell of her breasts, and the slope of her collarbone up to the delicate arch of her shoulders.

His gaze came upward and locked with hers, watching her blush but not look away. They stared at each other and he was the first to break contact, abashedly averting his eyes. "S-sorry," he stumbled out, "I was just..."

"It's fine. I...um...I was just going to shower."

"R-right." It was then that he finally heard the running water. "I should let you get to it then. Wouldn't want your water to get cold."

He moved to leave, but was stopped by her hand on his elbow and he turned back to face her. Her blush had only deepened, but her face was determined. "We could just save water..." she shyly suggested.

Jon had to admit his brows shot to his hairline at that one.

She smiled lightly, almost teasingly, though her eyes were uncertain. He returned the expression, though his was more bemused. "Are you sure?"

She lifted her shoulders into a little shrug. "If you want to." Her reply was soft and unassuming but then she boldly turned, dropped her towel, and stepped into the shower.

He stood there for a long moment, mind blank before he finally processed what was happening. He smiled to himself, a little incredulously, not completely convinced he wasn't still asleep, and busied himself with stripping. Sansa had left the corner of the shower curtain pulled back invitingly, and he could feel her watching him through the gap. Their eyes met and held as he dropped his shorts and briefs, and finally stepped in to join her in the bath.

He closed the curtain behind him, resting one hand against the tile wall above her head, shoulders relaxing as he leaned into the warm spray with a contented sigh. Sansa watched him. She watched the way his hair darkened to nearly black and plastered to his head, watched the graceful stretch of lean, sinewy muscle, and the water running in rivulets against pale skin. He shifted under her appreciative stare and slowly brought his hands up to frame her face.

The resulting kiss was soft and questioning, her eyes fluttering closed as his lips grazed over hers, applying the lightest pressure before she responded, twining her arms around his neck to pull him closer. He pulled back slightly, his nose brushing against her as he smiled.

"Sorry if I smell," he whispered apologetically.

"That's what the shower's for."

Watching her eyes, he placed a hand carefully on the small of her back, gliding his fingers up her spine, leaving sensual shivers in the wake of his touch. She brought her own hands up to touch him in return, tracing over the musculature of his arms and shoulders, sliding them palms-flat against his back to feel his skin warm and slick from the downpour of water.

He kissed her, or she kissed him, she wasn't sure who started it again, but suddenly there was nothing but mouth and cheek and skin and hands, gentle, warm and ardent...and Jon, nothing else in the world beyond Jon.

They broke apart, but they were still so close all Sansa could see was the winter-gray of his eyes, deep and loving. She shuddered for breath, trembling against him, and he turned her in the circle of his arms, guiding them both back under the spray of the shower.

With her back to his chest, her body molded to his and her eyes went wide at the intimate press of his sex against the curve of her backside, but the caress of his hands immediately soothed her as they began slowly kneading the tension from her shoulders.

She relaxed beneath his touch, his lips whispering a kiss against her nape as he reached for the soap, and they delighted in exploring ministrations even after the water had gone cold.

Awhile later, they stumbled into the bedroom in a wet tangle of limbs, hands roaming and lips attached between giggles. Sansa trailed soft kisses down his neck, causing him to groan and let his head fall back. He cupped her hips in his hands, tugging her closer, and caught her lips in a heated kiss. She responded with a moan, pushing harder into him to grind her hips against his. Frustrated by the barrier between them, Jon pulled at the towel wrapped around her, letting it fall to the floor. He ran his hands over the newly revealed curves with a relieved groan, nuzzling beneath her chin and flicking out his tongue to taste her skin.

Sansa shivered, tucking her fingers into the cloth knotted around his waist to tug him toward the bed. She fell back against the mattress, pulling him down on top of her. Water from his wet hair dripped onto her skin with the motion, and he playfully licked away the droplets, causing her to giggle at the tickling sensation.

They shared light, sweet kisses and she hummed with pleasure as he wriggled out of his towel, thrilling her as they were skin to skin once more. It felt natural to be naked with him now, a comfort she realized he had cultivated earlier in the shower, coaxing away her shyness with careful touches and distracting kisses.

His face grew serious as he considered her for a long moment, stating emphatically, "You tell me the moment I do something you don't like."

She nodded firmly, letting him know she understood. His smile returned, and so did the lightness in his eyes, as he leaned down to kiss her softly, teasingly licking at her lips and withdrawing before it could deepen. She huffed indignantly and he grinned, catching her hands when she brought them up to swat him and placing them back on the bed.

Her breath caught audibly at the move and he looked up at the sound. He watched thoughtfully as her lips parted and her pupils dilated. He cocked his head, remembering a similar reaction earlier in the living room, and he bracketed his hands around her wrists, lifting until he had pinned them above her head. He shifted his weight with the movement, consequently pressing more firmly against her and Sansa moaned, arching into him.

He trailed his mouth along her jaw and chin, biting down just above her collarbone and then soothing the agitated skin with a brush of his tongue. She squirmed beneath him, nipping at his jaw in retaliation for his teasing "Jon!" She pouted, frustrated at the inability to touch him but undeniably aroused at the act. She would give that more thought later when she wasn't so utterly caught up in the lips sucking at her pulse.

Her soft moans heated his blood, leaving him aching with need already as he rocked against her. He took his exploration lower, following the trail of a few remaining droplets of water down to the valley between her breasts. His attentions drew a low whimper from her and when he released her hands, they immediately went to clutch the back of his head. Her nails dug into his scalp, and he grunted, but paid it little mind, delighting in her responses.

He also didn't mind when she practically forced his head up, hands clenching into fists in his hair. Jon angled his mouth over hers in firm, caressing kisses, drawing back once more when she sought to deepen them and earning a disgruntled moan in return. He kissed her again, catching her bottom lip between his teeth. "Shh, sweetheart, slow down. Let me take my time. It'll be worth it, I promise."

If there was one thing Sansa always believed about Jon, it was his promises, and so she let him have his way, teasing and nipping at her lips until she was flushed and panting, mouth rosy and swollen. She tangled her fingers in his hair once more and he finally surrendered to a deeper kiss. His hands cupped the back of her knees and guided her legs to wrap around his waist, stroking and caressing her mouth until a pleading moan rose up in the back of her throat. Supporting his weight on one arm, he used his free hand to cup the underside of a breast, dragging his thumb across the sensitive flesh.

She tightened her legs around him, grinding her hips hard against his, but he didn't give her the needed friction for long. He slid down her body, trailing his lips along her skin as he went, across her belly to circle her navel with his tongue, down one leg to her ankle and feet, slowly making his way back up the other. He brushed his cheek against her thigh, his stubble scratching against her skin, and pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the V of her hipbones.

There was a familiar hot, tight feeling in her stomach, building into an incredible wetness pooling between her legs. The aching grew more and more, as she fell under the spell of his ministrations, eliciting from her a whimper of want and yearning when she felt his breath over her sex but he went no further. She forced herself to raised her head and look at him, finding him watching her with dark, hazy eyes.

He slid his hand between her legs, pleased at the wetness he found, and rubbed his fingers against her. "You've touched yourself before, yeah?" he husked against her skin, biting down where the curve of her waist met her hip.

"Y-yes."

"Good. Fingers?" She nodded shakily and he hummed with satisfaction. "How many, beautiful?"

"Oh!" She shuddered as his clever fingers stroked over her clit. "Two! I usually use two!" Her hips rocked up impatiently into his hand, her thoughts scattered, but she managed to finish speaking. "B-but I've managed three." 

"Wonderful. You've got those long, lovely fingers, too. That'll make this easier for you."

He brought his mouth then to the apex of her thighs, his tongue delving between her folds without preamble. He tasted and teased, fueling the profound ache. She clutched at his hair as she arched hungrily into him, desperate to feel more of him. He caressed her thoroughly and skillfully, heady with the taste of her as he carefully slid a finger inside her, and then a second when her inner muscles relaxed around the intrusion.

The sweet tension coiling in her belly continued to tighten as she spiraled higher and higher, guided the ardor of his touch and the pleasure of his intimate kiss. She rocked in rhythm with every stroke of his fingers, Jon soon scissoring them to open her further to his questing tongue.

A brush of his thumb, his lips closing over her clit and she was gone, rocketing into the most intense orgasm of her life as the pleasure mounted and broke, not allowed to ebb away as he continued on. He brought her up to her peak a second time, the climaxes melding together until she was nothing but a bundle of electrified nerves, gasping breath and trembling muscles.

She fell back against the bed, her body still shaking with the aftershocks, skin beaded with sweat and chest heaving as she struggled for air. She could vaguely feel him, a comfortable weight against her legs, resting with his head pillowed against her thigh as he waited for her to come down from her high and join the world of the coherent once more. He absently caressed her hip, watching her through hooded eyes as she slowly calmed. She ran a hand through his ruffled hair and earned a crooked little smile on a mouth still wet with her release.

"You okay?"

"Mmm, better than okay." She smiled languidly. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, urging him up. "You're too far away."

"We should do something about that then."

She huffed out a laugh, eyeing him as he straightened up and stretched, making no secret of ogling the arch of his backside or the erection bobbing proudly below his waist. Transfixed and aroused beyond compare by the look in her eyes, Jon submitted as she pulled him to her, falling into her warmth as she cupped his jaw and pulled him into a deep, bone-melting kiss that drew groans from them both.

Her hands roamed, restlessly running over his shoulders and arse. She needed time to explore him, to map out the curves and contours of his body with her fingers and lips, but it would have to wait. She felt the tension in him, his cock pressed firmly against her belly, hard and wanting, and the reawakened need in herself. She reached between them, stroking her fingers down his length. He bucked against her hand, swearing gutturally under his breath. "Gods, Sansa."

She pressed her lips to his neck, sinking her teeth into the tense flesh. He grunted, his Adam's apple flexing as he swallowed hard. "No more waiting, Jon. Please."

"Whatever you want, lovely girl." He rifled through the bedside drawer to find the box of condoms and small tube of lubricant he kept there. He tore open one of the little foil packets, snugly rolled on the latex, and smeared a liable amount of the lube over his length. He settled himself back between her splayed legs, kissing her cheek, her neck, her breast, as his slicked fingers slid home again between her thighs.

"You have no idea how amazing it is, sweetheart," he whispered against her skin between endearments, as his fingers crooked and curled. "That you would choose me of all people to be your first."

"I couldn't have made a better choice," she said resolutely as he withdrew his fingers and lifted himself up. reaching down to align himself with her center and press into her. They held each other's eyes, Jon watching for any sign of discomfort, ever cautious with her, as he slowly filled her, pausing when she winced. There wasn't the intense pain she had originally feared, only a slight burning and discomfort as her inner walls stretched to accommodate him. She breathed out slowly, shifting and hitching up her legs, angling herself so that he sank in to the hilt. Her breath hitched with one last pinch of pain, but she sighed his name in relief as she felt her body relax. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave her hips an inviting lift.

Jon took it slow, gentle and careful as he thrust. And the painstaking rhythm was fine for a time, as their eyes locked and the initial discomfort of their joining faded into delicious friction, but the need for more grew. She spread her legs further and hooked them around his hips, urging him deeper. "Jon, I need..."

"I know, sweetling. I know." As much as he wanted to take this slow, savor every moment of making love to her, every part of him in that moment was wired to give what she needed. He reveled in the whimpers and moans he invoked, as he picked up speed and pumped into her with deep, steady strokes. "So beautiful. So incredible. Sansa-!"

He released a throaty growl as he came hard and abruptly, Sansa following after him almost immediately with a sharp cry of his name and her nails raking down his back.

Jon let himself fall to the side to avoid burdening her with his weight. Sansa protested the loss of his warmth, rolling onto her hip to reach out to him. He groaned, barely able to summon the willpower to pull away. "Just a second, honey," he reassured, punctuating the promise with a quick kiss.

Curling up on the tousled sheets, she watched him stand up on shaky legs, peeling off the used condom and tying it off before tossing it in the waste bin. He bent over ever so slightly to do so, placing his taut backside on display, and feeling mischievous, Sansa reached up and landed a light smack against his right flank.

Jon whirled around, gaping, and her attempt at an innocent expression failed when she broke out into a fit of giggles. He launched himself back on the bed in retaliation and hey rolled around together, laughing, scattering kisses and touches on each other's skin wherever they could.

Her hand wrapped around his softened cock, stroking him, and grasped his hair to guide his mouth back to hers, lovingly coaxing his body back to arousal. He opened to her, to the silken slide of her tongue into his mouth, the teasing nibbles on his lips, murmuring a quiet, "Again?" into their kiss.

"If you think you're up for it," she challenged, repeating his earlier maneuver by reaching into the still-open drawer for another condom.

"Oh, I'm up for it." Only pausing to replace the condom, he reversed their positions so he was on his back, reaching down to cup her buttocks and lift her to straddle his stomach.

She gazed down at him curiously, wondering at the new position. But her thoughts were diverted when he cupped her breasts, teasingly flicking his thumbs over the rosy nubs hardening under his touch. "Today's all about new experiences. How about this one?" he demonstrated his point with an upward jerk of his hips.

It was only her old riding lessons that saved her from toppling over, squeezing with her knees to keep her seat, and judging by the wicked glint in his eyes, Jon fully intended for that to be the case. He bucked up again, and this time she placed her hands against his chest, pushing him back down. He smiled approvingly. "Giddyup?"

Her delighted laughter filled the room, only quieting when she leaned down to kiss the wolfish little grin off his smug face.

_*I'm basing this off the United States Army (information I got purely from the website, not from personal experience), wherein, according to , soldiers in the Reserve are required to report for a weekend of training a month (Battle Assembly) and two continuous weeks out of the year for Annual Training._


	7. Seven: Precious Things

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin

Betaed by the fabulous MerMarie, who is now Save Me's official beta.

**Chapter Seven: Precious Things**

_Winterfell, Late Summer 2007_

A gentle wind blew, carrying with it the warm, rich scents of the season. The breeze that billowed through his shirt was a cool caress against his skin, for even in late summer, the North never experienced warmth that grew more than mildly tepid. That would not be the case on this morning, however, for the air held a light, brisk hint of the approaching autumn. It buoyed the winter in his blood as he breathed in deep, reveling in the familiar smells and sights of home.

The ancient, gnarled ironwood that towered above him cast down long, cobalt shadows and masked his silhouette as he steadied himself against a low branch and began to scale the old tree. The lean muscles he had maintained swimming at Castle Black made lifting himself from branch to branch effortless, and years of practice made for a quick, agile climb.

Pleased to find the window open, he slipped inside, creeping with soft footsteps across the bedroom floor. The early morning's light was just start to spill in through the window, shrouding the woman lying on the bed in molten gold and seeming to light her falls of copper curls on fire. She was sleeping peacefully, serene and lovely in her slumber, and he would be entirely reluctant to wake her if it wasn't for the way he craved her company so completely.

He sat down gently on the mattress, feeling it sink slightly with the addition of his weight, and the shift woke Sansa. She released a soft sigh, the thick lashes feathered over her river-blue eyes fluttering open. Recognizing his presence, she smiled warmly, accepting the kiss he offered as he bent down.

She twisted her fingers through the short ponytail at his neck, pulled back to tame the neglected curls that had grown wild and shaggy during the freedom of the summer months. She had to admit, she enjoyed the new length- wrapping around her fingers as she beckoned him to her, tickling against her skin as he kissed her. With that thought, she took advantage of her hold on his hair to urge him close, tilting his head down to deepen the kiss. Jon gave a low sound of approval, only drawing away when the need for air became necessary.

"Good morning," she whispered, pecking his cheek and stroking her fingers down the line of his jaw. He smiled and turned his head to kiss her palm.

"Morning, sweetheart."

He kicked off his shoes and twisted to lie down beside her, slipping his arms around her waist. Sansa's form curved perfectly into his just like it always had, two pieces of the same puzzle. She nestled against him, nuzzling her face into his chest and inhaling. He smelled of earth and pine, a slight dampness clung to the khaki of his shirt she guessed likely came from dew, and she instinctively knew where he'd been despite it being barely passed dawn.

"You've been out in the wolfwood? So early?"

"Mmm. I wanted to see the sunrise from the trees, recommit it to memory."

Her breath caught at the underlying implication of the words, the things they had been refusing to talk about for the past three months. That she was due to leave for college in the Vale in a few weeks, that Jon had still not addressed whether what decision he had made about his future. She swallowed and pushed the thoughts away, lifting her head to give him a coy smile. "Have you? Recommitted everything to memory?"

His eyes darkened, mouth stretching into a slow, languid grin. "Not everything." He gently rolled her onto her back, leveraging himself over her. "Not how you feel against me." She braced her hands against his back, pulling him closer to settle his weight against her, and he mouthed at the sensitive place below her ear. "Not how soft your skin is," he whispered as he nudged her chin up with his nose, granting him access to trail kisses down her throat. "The way you taste."

His hands slid toward the hem of her tank-top and Sansa caught them before he reached bare skin, regretfully putting a stop to his advancement. "Jon..."

"What's the matter?"

"Bran's right next door."

He nodded thoughtfully, stroking his thumb down her palm. "Come for a swim with me, then."

"Jon..."

He leaned closer with puppy dog eyes, and she knew she couldn't resist that look. She sighed in defeat. "Alright, fine. But you're taking the blame if we get caught."

"Deal."

They shared a quick kiss and then she rolled away from him for a quick change of clothes. He stretched out, folding his arms behind his head as he watched her with no small amount of admiration and awe. It still amazed him to no end that she had chosen _him_ of all people to be her lover.

He had spent so much of his life having his very existence resented. Jon the orphan, Jon the bastard, Jon the unwanted. Ned, Ashara and Arya, as well as Robb's friendship, had helped him come a long way in believing himself worthy of love and acceptance. Sometimes though, more often than he would like, that insecure part of him, the rejected little boy in the back of his mind, show itself and made him doubt. But there was something about being with Sansa, about every look, smile and touch, that lit up all the dark places inside him. And even if it was temporary, something that felt more likely the longer they went without defining their relationship, it would always be something he treasured

Sansa returned and looped her arm through his, tugging him toward the window with a brilliant smile. Yes, the memories would be something to treasure, more precious than any wealth or riches the world could offer him.

xxx

The hot springs were their destination, better for a leisurely, comfortable swim than the local lake whose brisk waters were fed by the Frostfangs' melting ice caps. The spring was warm and inviting against her bare skin as she submerged, enveloping her with all the comfort of an embrace.

Jon was a bit behind in their race, jogging out of the foliage with a grin as he found her already in the water. He made his way closer, mentally tallying up the garments piled on the bank, and groaning with appreciation as he realized she was naked beneath the surface of the water. Her lips curved into a smirk when she saw realization hit him, loving the way his eyes darkened as he lifted them to meet hers. In no time, he was stripping off his clothes and joining her.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against a muscled chest. Warm lips touched her shoulder and she smiled. She turned in his arms and just took a moment to savor his closeness. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." He began lowering his head to hers, intent on a kiss, when he suddenly found his vision obscured by a splash of tepid water in his face. He sputtered, though he couldn't bring himself to be truly annoyed as the musical sound of her laughter filled the air.

He splashed her in return, and the game was on.

A short time later, exhausted from their horseplay, Jon swam back toward the shallow end of the pool. Sansa had already settled there on a group of rocks, worn smooth from weather and time, that had formed a sort of natural stone shelf that left her still half-submerged. "Truce?" he called out wearily.

"Mmm," she hummed in agreement, watching his progress through hooded eyes. He sat beside her, nudging against her gently in a silent request for more room. Instead, she scooted forward, her body tilting in invitation. He slipped behind her, settling himself at her back, and Sansa didn't hesitate to make herself comfortable in his lap. She nestled close and released a contented sigh. "Two weeks is way too long to not have time alone with you."

"I agree." He placed a hand at the small of her back, gliding his fingers up her spine to rest at her neck. His touch sent sensual shivers in its wake as he cupped the back of her head, tangling his fingers through her hair. "It's been hard to get free time when your brother's been having a nervous breakdown about Jeyne being pregnant again."

Sansa giggled, resting her head against his chest. "I know. Poor Robb. And there's my mother making me supervise every time Bran wants to go traipsing off in the woods with Jojen."

"What about Meera? Can't she take over sometimes?"

"She's a counselor at that summer wilderness camp..." she trailed off, unable to recall the name.

"The one that Bran was so disappointed he's not old enough to attend?"

"Hmm-mm." She watched as comprehension slowly dawned on him, laughing as his expression grew gobsmacked. "Made the connection now? It's cute, isn't it, that crush he has?"

Jon arched a brow. "The one he has on Meera or the one he has on Jojen?"

"Jon!"

"What? You know it's true."

She laughed softly. "You're right. Bran has such a big heart, I suppose it's to be expected. It won't stay puppy love forever, though. He's already fourteen."

"And when Bran loves, he loves wholeheartedly. It'll be for one of them that his feelings mature."

She groaned, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "I can just imagine my mother's reaction to that. Meera's only a year younger than you and Robb, and Jojen..."

He hummed sympathetically, tilting his head to nuzzle her temple. "I know. But as long as he's happy, right?"

And there it was, that trait of Jon's that never failed to make her smile and melt a little. The way he always knew the right thing to say to soothe her worry, the way he loved and accepted the people he cared about without question- Bran and his big heart, Arya and her brusque, rowdy nature, Robb and his relationship drama, Sansa herself and her own baggage. "As long as he's happy," she agreed, breathing out slowly as she felt her heartbeat begin to pick up, licking her lips before leaning up to feather a kiss against his throat.

Jon's breath audibly caught in his throat as she shifted around in his lap, looping her arms around his neck. He shivered as her breasts pressed against his chest and her thighs brushed against his groin. She gently rocked forward, earning a heavy groan from him as his cock began to stir. "Sansa..."

"Jon." Her arms tightened around him, thighs parting to cradle him against her all the more intimately.

He groaned as he kissed her: the kiss a soft, languid stirring of passion, a gentle contact eliciting a deeper reaction than they could have ever expected before each other. He lifted her off his lap and lowered her carefully into the water. She ran her hands up the sleek skin of his back, delighting in the ripple of his muscles, as she whispered against his lips. "Tell me you brought your wallet."

"Of course." They parted with a perfunctory kiss, and Jon moved quickly to retrieve his wallet and the condom he kept there. He stroked himself to full erection and slipped it on, then rejoined her in the water.

She drew him close into another kiss, a dark rumble sounding in his chest as he responded ardently. She could feel him, hot and hard against her inner thigh, and she mewled with soft longing. Her hands slid up to tangle in his hair, whispering his name in entreaty while leaning back and coaxing him to join her. He settled himself between her legs and Sansa reached between them, gently guiding him. Jon closed his eyes with a murmur of contentment, as she took him into her body and he was enveloped in the familiar bliss of being one with her.

Pleasure filled her every sense as he moved above her in slow, languorous rhythm. Her head fell back, nails lightly scouring his back as he brought her closer to what she had wanted from the moment she had woken to his kiss. The water around them weighed down each undulating of his body, slowing his movements, but still kept them smooth and steady with added buoyancy. At times he kept his thrusts teasing and fleeting, other times deep and lingering with startling intensity, all the while playing her body with hands and mouth of a beloved lover.

He shifted, bracing his weight on his forearms. He picked up speed, Sansa locking her legs around his waist to deepen the instinctive arch of her own hips, taking him deeper, and soon any control either of them had left disappeared completely. Sansa panted his name, lifting her head to clumsily catch his mouth, as they rutted together hard and fast, racing toward that pinnacle of pleasure.

Sansa's hit hers first, rendering her trembling and exhausted in his arms as he released himself in the aftermath of her still quivering climax. She nearly collapsed if not for the way he eased them down with the weakness of both their bodies. He sighed softly, feeling the brush of her lips against his shoulder as she tucked her head into the crook of his neck. They stayed that way for a time, post-coital haze enveloping them both.

"Jon..."

Jon raised his head to smile at her. She combed her fingers through his hair, smoothing the damp locks away from his forehead. He leaned into her touch, turning his head to kiss her palm. "Sansa, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Two weeks apart, and you want to talk?" She slipped a hand between them, not to wrap around him, but to teasingly stroke his thigh instead.

"Sansa..." His cock twitched and she grinned, kissing him with a lazy intimacy. She traced her tongue over his lower lip, catching it between her teeth. He growled in response, causing a shiver of excitement to resound through his lover.

"Jon," she countered with a faux expression of innocence, unable to hold back a smile as her eyes twinkled with a wicked light.

He surrendered with a groan, lowering his head to take a breast into his mouth. She moaned, gripping at his hair as he circled his tongue around a pebbled nipple. He slipped his knee between her thighs, nudging them apart and gently grasped her leg to hitch it up around his hip. He trailed a hand down her belly and lower, slipping two fingers inside her.

They were so wrapped up in each other that it took a short while before they noticed the sudden sound of a cell phone, coming from their clothing. Recognizing the ringtone, Sansa reluctantly tilted her head toward the source of the noise, "That's mine."

"Don't answer it," he muttered in reply, his attention more on the smooth skin beneath his lips than the distracting ringing. He crooked his fingers and Sansa keened, struggling to remain focused.

"I have to. It might be important."

Thought loathe to do so, he relented and withdrew. Sansa scrambled for the phone before it stopped ringing, her eyes widening as she spotted the caller ID and accepted the call. "Mom?"

Her expression seemed to change and shift so quickly, he could barely read the emotions before they were replaced by others. Confusion, anger, fear, and doubt; helplessness, denial, and finally, complete and utter devastation. Pale and shaking she dropped the phone, choking back a sob as she released his name in a low whimper. "Jon…"

He was instantly on his feet, pulling her into his arms. In any other situation, he would note the oddity of the two of them standing there in a tight embrace, completely naked, but his attention was purely and solely on the sobbing girl in his arms.

She was trembling and he soothingly rubbed her back, truly scared for her. "Sweetheart, what is it? What's wrong?"

"It's…it's my dad and Bran. There's been an accident."

xxx

In the end, Brandon Stark Sr.'s years as a functioning alcoholic culminated in a fatal consequence the moment he chose to drive drunk with his son in the car, running them straight into a concrete median that killed Brandon on impact and permanently paralyzed Bran from the waist down.

Life went on as the months passed and the seasons changed. Both Sansa and Jon deferred for the fall semester and stayed in Winterfell. Ned practically moved back into Stark Manor to be there for Catelyn and Jon remained at their home with Arya. Mid-autumn saw Bran returning home after time in the hospital and a stint at the rehabilitation center that had snapped him out of his depression. By the first months of winter, he had made huge steps in adjusting to life in a wheelchair. Robb's wife Jeyne was nearly six months pregnant, a much-needed bright spot of joy for the Starks in the wake of their devastation.

Through it all, Sansa stayed stalwart and stoic, dedicating everything she had to give to helping her mother and brothers. The last time Jon could remember seeing any vulnerability from her was the day of Brandon's funeral, when Sansa had stood pale and gaunt in her black dress, and reached behind her to slip her trembling hand into his.

Not once in all those months did he end up spending a moment alone with her. He spent as much time as he could with Bran as he healed and adjusted, with Robb as he raged and grieved, with Arya so she didn't feel lost in the shuffle, but Sansa barely glanced in his direction. Jon could never hold it against her, he knew everyone coped in their own way, but still he ached for any sign that he could be there for her in some way.

But still, the more time passed, the more a sense of urgency began to set in. A deadline had been set for him, a decision to be made: to pursue his graduate studies, he already knew who he wanted to study under. Jeor Mormont, a retired Night's Water Commander and Professor of Ancient History at Castle Black, was Westeros' leading expert on the Ancient North, Jon's area of study. The problem was, Professor Mormont had recently accepted a two-year contract in King's Landing, with the benefit of being closer to the archives at the Citadel as he researched for his latest project.

To top it all off, the Night's Watch had covered his tuition for undergraduate studies, especially since they had been at one of the military colleges, but such generosity wouldn't continue. That would leave him to make a deal with the devil, accept the offer Rhaegar had left on the table since he graduated high school: full coverage of his tuition, the only stipulation being that he must attend school somewhere in the Crownlands.

When he confessed all this to Sansa, he knew she would react badly, but he was unprepared for the violence of her reaction. As she stared at him with unbelieving eyes, his shame was as potent as the betrayal on her face.

He ducked just in time to avoid the shoe she threw at his head, grimacing at the angry flush to her face, tears she must have hated to show glistening in her eyes. "You're leaving? You're leaving?! Do you have any idea how much everyone needs you right now? You can't do this, Jon! It's not fair."

He couldn't help himself. The hurt had begun to seep in, like a slow poison, despite all his good intentions, and he couldn't help but snap back at her. "Who's leaving who, Sansa? You're going to the Vale. That's pretty damn far away from here." He hated himself for the venom in his voice, but he was so tired of not talking.

For an entire summer, she had deflected his attempts to bring up the topic of them, to talk about their impending separation. Then the accident had understandably derailed any other attempts at conversation, but it had hurt to have her shut him out for so long, even more so when he had to learn she had decided to leave for the Vale after the beginning of the next year from Uncle Ned. And now that life for their family was starting to move forward, he had the chance to do the same, to pursue his own future and be selfish for once in his life.

Sansa visibly flinched, stung. Jon was always so patient and gentle with her, but at the same time, she could get under his skin like no other. "I thought you would stay here."

That riled his temper. "Was I supposed to just wait here, welcome you with open arms whenever you deemed fit to visit?"

He hated himself for the hurt that clouded her eyes, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to stop. She wrapped her arms around herself, somehow hoping the physical defense would protect her from the pain of his words. "Why didn't you tell me before about King's Landing?"

His eyes softened and he sighed, giving her a weary look. "I tried to. I was going to, that day at the hot springs. I haven't been able to since then. Have you honestly not noticed this is the first time we've been alone together in four months?"

She flinched again, but still, refused to acknowledgment it.

"Gods, Sansa. Give me a reason, just one. And not that one about the family. Uncle Ned already knows, and everyone else will understand." Ned had, in fact, accepted his decision, only warning him to be leery of Rhaegar's intentions. Robb was happily distracted with being an expectant father again, Bran would soon be returning to school, and Arya would be unhappy at first but she'd grown used to his absences.

"Jon." There were so many different layers of meaning to that single utterance of his name, hanging in the air between them. But like everything else that so characterized their complicated relationship, they remained unspoken. And still, she didn't give him the reason he so desperately wanted.

She remained silent after that, and Jon swallowed hard against the lump of emotion rising in his throat. "I see." He stood up from where he had been seated on the bed, not able to bring himself to look in her direction. "Goodbye, Sansa."

For the first time since they met, he walked away from her without looking back. Three days later, he left for King's Landing.


	8. Eight: Moving Forward

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin

**Chapter Eight: Moving Forward**

_King's Landing, Late 2008_

"Jon!"

It was one of the greatest joys his life had known up until that point to see Sansa Stark running toward him across a crowded airport terminal and jumped into his arms. As he held her close, he felt at peace for the first time in nearly a year. She buried her face in his shoulder, murmuring against his shirt. "Gods, Jon, I've missed you so much."

"Me too, Sansa, me too."

She raised her head from his shoulder to give him a brilliant smile, one he couldn't help but return, especially as she leaned up to press her lips to his. The kiss was light and chaste, but full of more feeling than either had experienced since that day at the hot springs, before the fateful phone call that had changed everything.

A throat cleared behind them and the couple broke apart to look at Sam, who looked very sheepish over his interruption. "I...I'm very sorry to interrupt, but we really need to be going if I'm still your ride. I have a class to teach in a couple hours."

Jon blinked as the outside world came rushing back in and he nodded apologetically at his friend. Introductions were made as they headed to the baggage claim. Jon had to stifle a laugh at how flustered Sam became when Sansa turned her million-watt smile on him. She tended to have that effect on people.

The three of them split the luggage evenly between them, two suitcases and a large bag full of gifts. Sansa appreciated that neither of the boys insisted they could carry it all themselves, though she did catch Sam's nervous side-eye when Jon handed her the bag. She gave him a wink and the shade of beet red his face turned would have been concerning if not for the stifled laugh Jon covered with a cough.

Speaking of side-eye, she caught Jon's questioning glance and realized what he was asking with the offered outstretching of his arm. Of course Jon being Jon, he was truly asking instead of presuming and Sansa happily accepted, fitting against his side as he wrapped his arm around her waist. She adjusted her purse to slip her arm around him in return, boldly sliding a hand into his back pocket. Jon's only visible reaction was the corner of his mouth twitching up into a subtle smirk, and seemed content to let her hand rest where it wished.

With her suitcases loaded in the trunk, Jon held the car door open for her as she slid her purse and gift bag into the backseat. He was clearly expecting her to follow, given his bewildered look when she instead turned back around instead. Without much preamble, she cupped his face and pulled him into a kiss. It was not the chaste kiss from the entrance gate, nor something inappropriate for a public setting, but it was something very potent, very real.

"Wh-what was that for?" He definitely wasn't displeased, just shocked and more than a little breathless.

She smiled coyly and winked before climbing into the passenger seat. "Just for being you."

As he dazedly loaded himself into the backseat and Sam started up the ignition, Sansa caught Jon's eyes through the rearview mirror, her lips curling into a smile.

By the Seven, it was so good to see him.

xxx

"So what's on the menu?"

Jon grinned as she sidled up beside him, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her chin in the crook of his shoulder as she watched him expertly slice a bell pepper. "So? All that noise you were making earlier didn't come from cutting vegetables."

"I suppose you're not going to let me make it a surprise, are you? I give. There's wine in the fridge if you wouldn't mind opening it. The rest of my ingredients are in there, and you can take your best guess."

As he began to saute garlic, onions, tomatoes and peppers in a deep-set pan, she fetched what turned out to be bottle of Dornish white, one that would pair beautifully with the plastic-covered plate of prawns, mussels and clams she found on the middle shelf, cleaned, peeled, shucked and ready to go. _So that was what all the earlier noise had been.  
_  
She tried desperately to ignore that the wine was an expensive top-vintage and that the shellfish were out of season and likely incredibly pricy. No, she wouldn't think about the shadow of Rhaegar Targaryen's money and the role it had played in driving a wedge between them. Instead, she smiled brightly, delighted that he had remembered her fondness for seafood. "You really are too good to me," she commented appreciatively, closing the fridge to rummage through a drawer in search of the corkscrew.

She was considerably impressed when he fished a pair of wineglasses out of the cabinet above his head and handed them to her without breaking his rhythm. "Only as good as you deserve, Freckles. And you deserve a lot more than I can ever give."

"Jon..." she sighed as she turned to face him after she had poured them both generously full glasses. He shook his head with a small smile, showing he was being complimentary and not self-deprecating, and accepted the offered glass with a murmur of thanks. As he sipped the wine, she noticed he had added rice to the mixture on the stove-top while her back had been turned, and she arched an eyebrow as she finally connected the dots.

"Where in Westeros' name did you learn to make paella?"

He hummed and looked back at her inquiringly. "Have you had it before?"

"I haven't, but I've heard wonderful things about it."

"This one is Aunt Ashara's recipe." His mouth curved into a fond, but melancholy smile. "It's something she really wanted to pass on to Arya, but you know, Arya was so young when she got sick, so..."

Sansa smiled softly. "So she entrusted it to you?"

"Yeah. Cooking wasn't exactly my favorite pastime when I was fourteen, but at least I could reach the stove. I taught Arya a couple of summers ago. She and Little Ned made it together last year, I think, and that was a big thing for her." Little Ned was the nickname the Starks used to refer to Arya's Dayne cousin, Edric.

"I'm glad she has you." She leaned her hip against the counter, studying him as he stirred. "You miss her, don't you?"

"Arya?"

"No. Aunt Ashara."

Jon sighed, keeping his eyes forward under the guise of not letting their supper burn, but even Sansa, who baked more than she cooked, knew the rice would need several more minutes to cook. "Yeah," he finally conceded, "Yeah, I do. And I guess I miss her more now that-" He cut himself off, uncertain whether he should continue. Knowing him as well as she did though, Sansa knew there was more.

"Now that Uncle Ned and my mom are getting closer?" she questioned, smiling amusedly at his gobsmacked expression. "You don't honestly think I'm too self-absorbed not to notice that Uncle Ned practically lives there? He answers the phone more often than Mom does."

Jon conceded her point, shooting her an askance glance. "You're not upset?"

This time, Sansa was the one to hesitate, but eventually she shook her head. "No. I loved my dad because he was my dad, but he was an awful husband. I think even worse than he was as a father. At least we got some of his attention. After what happened to Bran.." she shuddered, pushing away the familiar feelings of guilty anger, "I can't blame Mom for not grieving him longer. And I think there's been something between her and Uncle Ned for a while. Do you remember that Solstice a few years ago...?"

"The two of them under the mistletoe? Yeah, I remember." He leveled another heavy look in her direction. Ned and Catelyn hadn't been the only one to share a mistletoe kiss that night. It felt so long ago, though he knew logically it had only been two years. He had always believed that it was that Solstice kiss that gave them the push into consummating their attraction the next summer.

She cocked her head, misreading his intentionally blank expression (it was likely too early to let her see arousal in his face when they hadn't even eaten, right?). "What about you? Are you angry?"

"About your mother and Uncle Ned? No. Aunt Ashara's been gone a long time. I think it's the house and the memories with it I'm going to miss when they finally decide to drop the charade and do the formal moving in."

"That makes sense," she replied, squeezing his arm sympathetically, "It's where you grew up."

"Yeah." He placed his hand over hers, giving it a squeeze in return. "I don't even want to think about what Arya's reaction is going to be."

"Seven save us. Let's not go into that tonight." Seeking to divert his attention, she sidled up closer. "I honestly had no idea you could cook. You keep surprising me by pulling these new skills out of the woodwork."

"Mmm, if this wasn't so delicate, we could keep discussing areas I'm skilled in..."

Delighted by the sultry gleam in his eyes, Sansa slid behind him. She slipped her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, lightly squeezing his backside as she returned her lips to his neck, her tongue lightly tracing over his pulse-point.

Jon groaned, letting his head fall back, her hand stroking along his jaw as she cupped his chin, drawing his mouth to hers in a deep, bone-melting kiss. He groaned deeply when she slid her tongue against his, skimming a hand up his shirt to scratch her nails against the small of his back.

When they parted, he licked his lips, feeling hazy and just barely remembering to check on the food. He dipped a spoon into the pan to test the mixture and when satisfied, offered it again for her perusal. Sansa accepted the offer, closing her eyes as the spices danced across her tongue. "Saffron?"

"Hmm-mm."

Her lips closed around his thumb as he traced it against her mouth, sucking at the digit in a provocative fashion that had him swallowing hard, his eyes darkening as he gazed at her. She released his finger and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, then threw him a wink and slid past him to disappear into the living room.

"Cruel," he grumbled, earning her good-natured laughter. He added the shellfish, covered the pan and adjusted the temperature to allow it to simmer. After setting a quick alarm, the pull between them got the better of him and he followed her earlier path to find her standing near the entertainment center, sipping delicately at her wine, body swaying to the smooth, melodious chords of the soft music playing from the stereo.

He placed his hands on her hips, pressing a kiss to her ear as he set her wineglass aside, and whispered, "Dance with me."

And they came together, not in the way they had collided occasion after occasion in some forceful twist of fate, but a smooth, fluid gesture as he pulled her to him, her body fitting seamlessly to his.

They moved together, mimicking the movements everyone picks up on sometime or another learning to slow dance, with her head resting against the crook of his neck and his arms around her waist.

Her hands glided up his back, coming to rest on his broad shoulders. The feel of the sleek muscles beneath the fabric of his flannel shirt was a delicious, long-missed indulgence beneath her fingertips.

There was a heat between them, dizzy and blinding, almost surreal as it embraced them both with welcoming arms, overtaking any sense of reality present in their minds. He pressed a kiss to the junction between her neck and shoulder, trailing his lips lightly down the sharp definition of her collarbone. He felt her shudder under his touch and shift just a little closer.

He breathed in the scent of her perfume, not the heavy floral type that always burned his nose and throat, but a subtle, light fragrance, a mild mixture of spice and sweet that fit her personality so well.

Gods, he had missed this; the feel of her body pressed flush against his, the rhythmic movement of her hips as they swayed to the music, the delicate way her thick lashes fell against her fair skin as she closed her eyes.

His body responded to her proximity just as it always had. His head felt dizzy, as if he was in the ocean, under the water where the world was submerged in soundless dark. His breath was not coming freely, panting and heated, and his heart was thundering so loud in his chest he was sure she would hear it.

"Jon…" she whispered in his ear, lightly brushing her lips against the lobe. The sound of his name spoken so softly, so intimately, almost turned his world upside down as he filled with a sensation that almost sent him reeling in its intensity.

He knows this feeling she can invoke in him so easily, so effortlessly, and he can't get enough of it.

The intimate moment was shattered by the loud beeping of the kitchen alarm. The obnoxious sound reverberated in time with Jon's rather theatrical groan, accompanied by Sansa's giggling at the blatant disappointment on his face. She patted his cheek soothingly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before disengaging from his embrace, leaving Jon pouting rather puppy-like before he obediently returned to the kitchen.

Wine and conversation flowed as they filled themselves to the brim with paella and the mixed green salad Jon had made to go with it. After they could eat no more, they piled the dishes in the sink for later and retired to the living room. The half-empty bottle of wine and their glasses were set on the coffee table, within an arm's reach from where they lay together on the sofa, Jon reclined back and Sansa resting against him.

Jon hummed contently, breathing her in and savoring her closeness. "We probably need to talk, hmm?"

"Yeah, we probably should."

He sighed. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I did what I thought I had to-"

"I know. I thought about it later. You made the right choice. It hurt to watch you go, but I know it had to be done." She leaned her head back, nuzzling against his jaw. "I'm sorry, Jon. I acted like a selfish brat, expecting you to drop everything and stay in Winterfell."

"No, it's okay." She noticed one of his hands twitching and recognized the gesture as one he often got when unsettled. His fingers began to drum against his thigh as he continued speaking. "You were hurting and you wanted me to be there for you. I got it. I just wish I had responded better."

She placed her hand over his to stop the nervous fidgeting. "Jon, you had every right to be angry. I know I was distant after the accident. I wanted to ask you to stay so badly. You have no idea how much."

"Why didn't you?"

"I felt guilty. The morning of accident, we were together at the hot springs, remember? I knew...I knew that if I had been home, my mom would have asked me to drive Bran to the Reed's. He never would have gotten in the car with Dad."

"Oh, Sansa. Honey, did you blame yourself?"

Sansa swallowed thickly and nodded. "I did. For months. But I started talking to someone, a counselor at the school, and I'm starting to realize there's nothing I could have done." She sighed. "I need you to understand Jon, I've never felt anything like what I felt when we were together. But after what happened, I didn't feel like I deserved to feel that good. I couldn't make myself lie to you, so I just...said nothing at all."

Jon wrapped his arm around her and she curled into him, nestling into his chest. "I'm sorry, Jon. I'm so sorry."

He kissed her temple, her forehead and nuzzled her cheek. "Here's an idea. Why don't we stop playing the blame game and just accept the fact that we're both sorry? Otherwise this could go back and forth all night."

She laughed softly, the sound full of self-deprecating relief. "Agreed."

"Good."

She settled her head against his shoulder, tilting her face up to study him. She ran a hand through his hair, noting the new length. It wasn't quite the crew-cut he had returned with after boot camp, but it was a far cry from the scruffy look he had sported the previous summer. The wild, fly-away mess she remembered had been tamed and cropped, baring his ears with a tapered neckline. The tresses even retained their natural curl, much to her delight, with a few smooth ringlets falling endearingly against his forehead.

"You cut it."

"I have a certain image I need to keep up as a TA."

"Mmm…I suppose that makes sense. You just look different."

"It's just growing up. I'm still me. No matter what."

She gave a nod, her unspoken satisfaction with the answer evident in the gesture. She pressed a kiss to the back of his neck and Jon sucked in a sharp breath. Sansa, quietly curious, noted the way his muscles quivered beneath her, the way he tensed in that special way she knew to be arousal and nothing else. "Jon…the way we left things…"

"I'm sorry-"

She placed a finger against his lips. "No. We already went through that. I'm talking about us," she traced her hand down his chest, feeling again that trembling both of anticipation and excitement, "This."

He exhaled heavily. "Do you have someone?"

She shook her head, "Nothing that lasted. What about you? Are you still with that woman?"

"I ended things about a month ago."

"Good."

She kissed him softly, letting the contact linger for a moment before pulling back. He breathed her name and kissed her again, equally as tender as hers had been, stroking his fingers against her cheek. "Sansa, I want to do it right."

"Us?"

"Yeah."

"Me too. I want a chance to be with you, Jon. A real chance this time. But we're so far apart…"

"I have less than a year left here, and King's Landing is closer to the Vale than Winterfell. Honestly, Sansa, I've wanted this for too long to let distance get in the way. The only thing that matters to me is if you feel the same."

She leaned her forehead against his, doubts falling away in the wake of his resolution. "I do."

He grinned, bright and boyish, and she giggled with delight as he pulled her into an even tighter hug. Somewhere in their enthusiasm and excitement, their mouths met and clung and their bodies entwined in heated anticipation. Soon enough, Sansa found herself half-naked, sprawled over the body of the man she was quickly considering to be the love of her life, and subject to the very pleasurable attentions his lips were attending to her bare skin.

Reluctantly, she pulled away from him. "Jon, wait."

Jon obeyed immediately. "What's wrong?"

"Let's take things slow this time around. We're not in any rush, right?"

He smiled and nodded, leaning up to nuzzle against her neck. "Yeah. No rush."

"Okay." Long since lacking inhibitions around him, she didn't bother to redress herself, nestling back against him. Jon's arms slipped around her and he laid back, holding her in silence. She idly caressed her fingers against his bare chest in random patterns. "So what are the plans for tomorrow?"

"I was thinking we could spend the day in the city," he murmured in reply, running his fingers through the long auburn locks draped across his torso. "I know a bunch of places I think you might like. And if you feel like it, my friends want to meet you."

"Sounds good." She murmured with contentment as he continued to stroke her hair. Her breath began to slow and even, her body relaxing against the heat of his.

He smiled amusedly. "Sleeping here?"

"Mmm…"

Jon chuckled at the drowsy response, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Sweet dreams, sweetheart."

xxx

Jon's friends, it turned out, were a lot of fun to be with.

They had barely made it out the door before Jon got a sudden call on his cell. Whatever it was, it wasn't good if his expression was anything to go by. He apologized profusely as he excused himself, telling them to have fun without him for a bit. He wouldn't be long, he promised.

Sansa found herself sitting with Pyp, Grenn and Sam in a local restaurant and bar, lingering over drinks as a live band played on stage. "You have to tell us what Professor Laconic was like as a teenager," Pyp stated, leaning forward in his eagerness. He nearly knocked over the beer in front of him, which was saved only by Grenn's quick reflexes. The mechanic frowned at his gesticulating friend, and Pyp waved him off. Grenn's frown only deepened in that thick beard of his.

She laughed at their antics. "Professor Laconic?"

"He's got dozens of them," Sam informed her as he arrived back at the table with the baskets of appetizers they had ordered. "This one's a little more creative than Sergeant Succinct."

"Captain Tight-Lip," Grenn continued.

"Lieutenant Reticent."

"I admit, that one was pretty good."

"Alright," Pyp interrupted, glaring at his friends. "I think the lady gets the picture."

Sansa could not say much in reply, lost as she was in a fit of giggles.

The boys were true in their word to Jon that they would keep her entertained. Her glass was never empty, they passed food around her way until she was so full she was fit to burst. She found that Sam told the most wonderful stories, that Pyp loved to flirt and Grenn was a terrible gossip. They were wonderful company, and she loved that Jon had them in his life. But Jon's absence soon became too prominent to ignore after nearly two hours had passed and calls and texts to his phone went unanswered.

What had started as a slightly uneasy feeling in the back of her mind turned into an uncomfortable sensation crawling up her spine and culminating into an anxious twisting in her stomach. She knew something had to be wrong.

"Sam, could you...?"

"Of course. Let me grab our coats."

Sansa let herself into Jon's place with the key he had given her, stepping warily into the silent apartment. She removed her shoes and coat, calling out his name, "Jon? Jon, are you here?"

She found him a few moments later in the living room, seated on the couch. He was hunched in on himself, staring blankly ahead as if seeing nothing before him but his own thoughts. Sansa frowned with concern, stepping cautiously toward him, "Jon?" She touched his shoulder and he flinched away, his eyes closing painfully.

"Jon, what is it? What's wrong?"

"…Margaery Tyrell is pregnant…she says it's mine…"

Sansa took a shuddering breath, swallowing back her own heartbreak to focus on the hurting man before her. She watched worriedly as he sank to his knees before her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her stomach and she felt the beginnings of his deep, broken sobs.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She stroked his hair, unable to find words but forgiving him in her silence. He tightened his hold on her in response, clinging desperately to the one thing that still made sense.

xx

**Author's Note: **There's always been a lot of debate over whether the ethnicity of Rhoynar-descended Dornish is more Mediterranean, Arabic or Indian. I'm going with Spanish here in honor of Pedro Pascal's portrayal of Oberyn Martell. Why paella? I've never made it, but it sounded just complicated enough to be something Jon could use to impress his date, and the seafood version seemed appropriate since Starfall, the seat of House Dayne, is located on the Torentine and is so close to the Summer Sea coastline.


	9. Nine: Feels Like Home

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin

**Chapter Nine: Feels Like Home**

_King's Landing, 2014_

They sat together for a long while in companionable silence, Jon lounging drowsily while Sansa focused on her paperwork. Eventually, she tossed the file-folder onto the coffee table, leaning back with a tired sigh. "Finally finished."

He watched as she stretched, her shirt lifting up in the process to reveal a strip of creamy, bare skin, and she caught the direction of his gaze, arching an eyebrow. He offered nothing more than a sheepish smile and a fleeting caress of his fingers against her exposed stomach. She shivered and caught the offending hand in hers, entwining their fingers. "Did you have dinner?"

He shook his head. "No. Margaery ambushed me just as I was heading to get something to eat."

"Come on then. Let me get you something to eat."

He obediently padded after her, lingering in the dining room and listening to the sounds of her rustling around in the kitchen.

"So what were you working on, anyway?"

"Ah. The less glamorous side of the fashion industry. For every new order, there's a ton of paperwork that accompanies it."

"Can't be much worse than grading two hundred essays on the First Men's use of runes."

She glanced over her shoulder and laughed. "You got me there."

As she turned back around, he shook his head with a smile, slowly making his way through the room. His gaze lingered on the pictures lining one of the walls, mouth curving into a nostalgic smile as he studied them.

The one that caught his eye the most was a photo of himself with a young boy on each shoulder, all three of them sporting bright smiles. There was Daeron, his carefree, clever boy, with his messy mop of chestnut curls, laughing amber eyes and that confident grin. And Brynden, shyly peeking out from behind Jon's head, every bit his mother's son with his Tully looks and sweet smile.

As if reading his mind, her voice filtered back through from the kitchen once more. "So where's Daeron tonight?" She knew him well enough to know that he would never leave after an argument without Daeron. More often than not, when Jon sought refuge at Sansa's, Daeron would stay the night in Bryn's room. The boys were used to frequent sleepovers enough that the arrangement never seemed off to them, curling up together like puppies in one bed as was their habit despite the bunk-beds their parents had installed in each of their homes.

"Garlan is in town on business. He brought Lyonesse and the kids with him, so Daer's spending time with his cousins."

He made certain to give no indication to his immense relief that it was Garlan and not Willas who had shown up. His jealousy was ridiculous and unwarranted, he knew, but the insecurity was a deeply-rooted one, stemming from Willas Tyrell being Sansa's first relationship after Jon's dreams of a life with her had come crashing down.

_Winterfell, 2009_

For as long as Sansa could remember, it had been a tradition for there to be a large gathering for friends and family at the Stark estate on the day of the Fire Festival. The party always centered around a potluck luncheon, served on the veranda overlooking the wooded acres of the estate. Afterward, those who wished to would attend the carnival being held at the city's fairgrounds; those festivities would linger until sunset, when the celebration would take a different turn with the lighting of the great bonfires.

As a girl, Sansa had been fascinated and enthralled by the pageantry of the daytime festival, but it was what happened after dark that spoke to something deep and innate inside her, the parts that marked her as a true daughter of the North. Catelyn, a devout follower of the Seven, had always disapproved of her children's attendance, but Brandon had insisted upon it from the moment they were old enough to stay awake for more than a few hours at a time.

Sansa had known the fierce beating of the drums, the incandescence of the flames, and the grace and beauty of the sky-clad dancers since before she was of age to attend school. Some of her earliest memories were of watching the happenings in wide-eyed wonder from the perch of her father's broad shoulders and ending her night cradled in strong arms as she fell asleep to low, haunting ballads in Old Tongue.

She wouldn't learn until years later that it was always Uncle Ned held and carried her, as Brandon had long since left to drink and wench.

She hadn't been sure about attending the celebration this year. It had taken an email from Jon, with a subtle acceptance for her to bring whoever she saw fit as her plus one, to convince her. It hadn't been an easy decision. As if the tense Solstice where Ned and Catelyn had announced their relationship wasn't bad enough, all hell had broken loose when she had last been in Winterfell six weeks ago to announce her pregnancy.

She winced at the memory, a hand coming up to instinctively cradle her middle. It was too early yet for the child there to make their presence obvious, but she could feel the slight thickening to her waistline and the protective hardening of her abdomen. Her first pregnancy was proving to be an interesting experience, especially with fluctuating hormones wreaking havoc on her emotions. She was feeling the most perplexing mixture of fierce protectiveness and nervous vulnerability, and it was those emotions that convinced her to ask Willas to accompany her.

She and Will had gotten close since she moved to King's Landing a few months before, a change had been prompted by the most bizarre proposal she had ever received: Margaery Tyrell's offer for her to intern at Tyrell Designs.

Her decision to pursue a degree in fashion design at the Eyrie's College of Art and Design had taken almost everyone in her life by surprise. All but one. He was the only one who hadn't thought her interest in clothing to be trendy, her skills as frivolous hobbies. Like he was so often in her life, Jon had been the exception.

"_Fashion design, then? Sounds like a good fit."_

_Jon's words echoed through the comfortable silence enveloping his bedroom. Submersed in the lazy, languid atmosphere that came with the summer morning, the lovers lay stretched on the bed together, indulging in the warmth of the sunlight pouring through the window. _

_Sansa's eyes flew open in surprise at the nonchalant response, laced with genuine interest. Turning her head to look at him, she found her attention derailed when he chose that moment to raise his arms and arch his back in a full-body stretch. Bare-chested as he was it was a rather sensual display, his powerful muscles rippling while his denim shorts fell rakishly low on his lean hips. _

_He sighed with relief once his tension was relieved, falling bonelessly back against the mattress. She reached out, carding her fingers through his long hair, free from their elastic in a rare insistence so that the dark curls haloed his head. _

"_You don't seem surprised."_

_Jon hummed contently, leaning into her caresses. "Why would I be? You've been sketching on anything you can get your hands on since we were kids. I remember how you used to make those little dresses for your dolls, and the costumes for all those school plays."_

_He sounded so genuinely puzzled Sansa huffed out a soft laugh. "I don't know if my family will feel the same. Especially my mother."_

"_You think she has different expectations?"_

"_My parents might have loved each other at some point, but their relationship started as more about steel mills and fisheries than about them. I'm sure she's expecting me to major in something practical like business management or accounting and marry some big business heir. Just like she did."_

_He sighed, rolling over to kiss her softly. "I don't think I've ever seen you happier than when you're creating something, Sansa. What's to stop you from making a living out of what you love?"_

"_You're right." She tilted her head up to better kiss him again, lingering longer than the last, tugging him closer to settle atop of her. She ran her hands up the warm, smooth skin of his back, and Jon was quickly losing himself in her ministrations when his eyes snapped open. _

"_You won't mention me when you talk to your mom, right? She's already not my biggest fan."_

_There was a short pause, and then Sansa pointedly flicked open the trio of buttons holding together her thin top and rolled her shoulders back to let the shirt fall away. Just as she intended, Jon's eyes were glued to her every moment. "Jon, do you really want to talk my mom right now?"_

_His head ducked down out of her line of sight, eliciting a sigh as her fingers threaded into his hair. That was plenty answer enough. _

It was after accepting the job from Margaery that she met Will. He was a veterinary student, specializing in equine medicine, a passion that had attracted Sansa's attention from the start. It was inevitable that she grew up with a love for animals, especially horses. The Stark Estate was five hundred acres of mostly woodland teeming with wildlife, with a large stable and kennel. Brandon Sr. had been both an enthusiastic hunter and rider and had instilled love of the latter in his children, even if they couldn't see the appeal in the former.

She wasn't sure if having Will at her side made officially meeting Margaery and her newborn son easier or more difficult, but she survived the ordeal. She somehow managed not to break down in tears when she held Daeron for the first time. He was a beautiful child, but she couldn't see much of Jon in him, though that could change with age. She thought she saw something familiar in the pert little nose and the shape of his mouth, and the wisps of fair hair on his crown could darken at any time.

A few hours later, she was on her way to track down her plus one. Knowing the two likely places to find Willas were either the library or the stables, she was currently rounding the corner toward the library when she spotted two figures standing on a nearby balcony.

It was most unlikely combination of Jon and Will, talking quietly over tumblers of a dark amber liquor which Sansa remembered as her grandfather's whiskey of choice, kept in the study Stark patriarchs had been using for generations. She imagined Ned now sat at the desk where Rickard had, pulling that decanter from the cabinet on long, frustrating nights spent crunching company numbers.

Will was the first one to notice her presence, giving her a reassuring smile. Her apprehension at finding them together must have been more obvious than she thought. He exchanged a few more words with Jon, who nodded firmly but didn't look in her direction. Will attempted another look of assurance, squeezing her shoulder as he passed and left the former lovers alone.

Sansa glanced at Jon warily, though he was still staring out at the yard. He sighed, taking a deep drink from his glass. "Do you love him?"

She swallowed hard against the lump rising in her throat. "I could."

He nodded, tipping his head back to finish his drink. His voice was rough as he responded. "I know the last thing you need is my permission, but...if you think he could make you happy, I think you should let him." His eyes closed with a tired sigh. "I just want you happy, sweetheart."

Sansa shifted over until she was pressed against his side, reaching down to take his hand. She felt him sigh again, a much more relieved sound this time, and lace their fingers together.

"Your son is beautiful," she offered softly, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Thank you." His lips were warm as they pressed to her forehead a moment later and they stood together in silence, until Willas came to fetch them to leave for the carnival.

_King's Landing, 2014_

Jon's eyes widened as Sansa set his food before him, consisting of a pair of roast beef sandwiches, a thick piece of lemon cake and a tall glass of milk. He opened his mouth to deny that she needed to go through so much trouble for him but she cut him off with a look, leaning down to peck his forehead. He gave a sheepish nod, starting in on his meal with some semblance of politeness at first. Then he realized the beef was genuine leftover roast, that she had used his favorite spicy mustard, topped it with peppers and pickles just the way he liked, and he was a goner.

He ate voraciously, watching as she rounded the table to take a seat across from him, sipping from a fresh cup of tea. She smiled at him and he managed a close-lipped grin in reply. For perhaps the first time that night, he found himself relaxing completely, reveling in his feelings of comfort and contentment.

No matter what went on in his life, this place was his refuge. It was where he felt most comfortable, most at home. And if he really thought about it, when it came down to things…wherever Sansa was, that was home for him.

When it came to what he treasured most in this world, he had to say that was where he and Sansa had the most in common, for both held the same idea as their most beloved: family. They both knew it wasn't about the blood or the lineage- it was about the people and the feelings that came with them. It was about love, always about love.

He had a complicated background. His grandfather and namesake had been Rickard Stark's head foreman, distant cousin and best friend. Their children had grown up together as a result and that closeness would be what changed the life of Lyanna's son.

The story of Jon's origins had started when Ned, Brandon, Lyanna and Benjen were still teenagers. Lyanna had been fifteen and Benjen fourteen when their father had suffered a fatal heart attack and the siblings were taken in by the Starks. Ever the rebels, Brandon and Lyanna dated behind Rickard's back. Their relationship was stormy (both too stubborn and proud for their own good, Benjen had said, fondly exasperated as he remembered) and it ended badly when Lyanna turned down Brandon's very public proposal at Lyanna and Ned's graduation party.

Lyanna, being the free spirit she was, left Winterfell not long after. She was a nomadic, starving artist cliché, scraping out a living as she bounced around the Stormlands, the Reach, even Dorne. Anywhere she could be close to water, Benjen said, something she never lost her fascination with. It was when she grew homesick for the North and ended up settling in White Harbor that she met Rhaegar Targaryen.

They met when Rhaegar was in the city on business. For Lyanna, he was an attractive option. He was handsome and quick-witted, interested in music, art and poetry. She wasn't likely to grow bored of his company too quickly. Better yet, the fact that he was so rarely in the city, only visiting monthly to help oversee Targaryen International's new contract, meant their involvement would stay casual and uncommitted, exactly what Lyanna wanted.

Casual or not, however, there was little excuse for lies or infidelity in Lyanna's mind. When she discovered her boyfriend was guilty of both, she immediately kicked him to the curb. Discovering she was pregnant soon after did nothing to change her decision.

Though he rarely ever spoke of it, Jon did remember his mother. He remembered they had stayed in White Harbor, because independent Lyanna had refused to return to Winterfell. He remembered clinging to the apron of her waitress uniform, that she worked long hours to support them both, and that the elderly neighbor who watched him smelled like talcum and sugar cookies. And his mother...she smelled of paint and the chai tea she favored. Her fingers were often smudged with charcoal, but they were always warm when they curled around his, holding him tight as he balanced on top of the sea wall when she took him to the harbor to see the ships.

He remembered his mother. He remembered she had loved him.

He should have had more memories. He deserved to have more, deserved better. Lyanna had deserved better as well. The last thing she had deserved was her fate, gunned down by a junkie trying to steal her purse. The purse that contained the paycheck that would keep her son fed and clothed for the next week. All because she had missed the bus and had to walk home, all because they couldn't afford to live in a better neighborhood.

Jon was only four.

What happened after was a whirlwind Jon barely remembered. Poor Mrs. Slate was helpless to do anything but hand her charge over when the police and Social Services came to the door. Benjen was deployed overseas and by the time he had arranged sympathy leave, someone had found Rhaegar's name on his birth certificate and Jon was on a plane to King's Landing.

Of course Benjen contested the decision. But he was barely twenty-two, single and on active duty. Whatever Rhaegar's motivation for seeking custody of his younger son, Jon wouldn't find out. It certainly wasn't to parent him. That task instead fell to his wife, his mother and the nannies they hired.

Rhaegar ignored him. His stepmother, Elia, was courteous but distant, and surprisingly the one who oversaw his care as Rhaella's health was so fragile. As for his siblings... Though she was never unkind, Rhaenys followed her mother's example in distancing herself and Aegon... Aegon hated him.

It was one thing for Viserys and Aerys to outright despise his existence, but they did little but deliver snark and insults in his direction. Aegon seemed determined to make his life hell. Life wasn't all bad: he had a playmate in Daenerys, a friendly ear in Great-Uncle Aemon, a comforting embrace in Grandma Rhaella. But by the time he was eight, Jon was so miserable with his life that Rhaegar finally pulled his head out of the sand and signed custody over to Benjen.

The downside was that Benjen had resigned himself to never seeing his nephew again and committed to another overseas tour. Their savior came in the form of his oldest friend and brother in all but blood, Ned. At the time, Ned and Ashara had been married six years. They had dreamed of a large family, but Ashara suffered from fertility issues and Arya had been their only biological child, their miracle baby. When Benjen approached them about taking Jon in, the couple didn't hesitate.

He was living happily in Winterfell in no time and the day his new guardians enrolled him in the local school, he made the acquaintance of a certain Stark.

_Winterfell, 1994_

Jon clung shyly to his uncle's leg, keeping a tight hold on Aunt Ashara's hand. She smiled down at him, gently releasing the surprisingly vise-like grip the boy had on her hand. "Honey, what's wrong? Aren't you excited to start at your new school?"

The boy vehemently shook his head, hiding himself further behind Ned. His uncle frowned, his brows drawing together with worry as he shared a concerned look with his wife. "Jon…" he began, only to be cut off by the approach of a slender woman with a friendly face and an inviting smile.

"Good morning," she greeted pleasantly, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes," Jon heard his aunt reply, "Our nephew Jon is supposed to start here today. We've settled everything at the office, but it seems he's feeling a little shy."

The teacher glanced down at the boy, smiling encouragingly as he peeked up at her. "Hello, Jon. I'm Mrs. Hornwood. I'm the vice principal here at the school."

Jon smiled bashfully and offered a barely audible, "Hi," before he disappeared from sight again, ducking back behind Ned. Mrs. Hornwood shared a look with Ashara before trying again to engage the boy.

"What's wrong, Jon? Don't you want to join the other children? Class won't start for another twenty minutes yet. Plenty of time."

Jon shook his head in the negative, burrowing his face into the khaki of Ned's slacks. The man sighed, soothingly running his hand through the boy's dark curls. His nephew looked up at him with something sad and lonely in his gray eyes and he lifted the boy into his arms. It had become familiar comfort in the month they'd had guardianship of Jon. The boy was tactile with them from nearly the start (sadly, Ned thought, as if he had been starved for it), contradicting the notes from the tutors and nannies Rhaegar had cycled through Jon's life that described him as standoffish and withdrawn.

Ned sighed and then bent his head down to whisper conspiratorially into the boy's ear, Jon's face growing brighter and brighter with every moment. This caused Ashara to narrow her eyes suspiciously at her husband, who only shrugged innocently as he let the child down.

Jon practically jumped onto his aunt as he gave her a tight squeeze, waved goodbye to Ned, and raced off toward the playground as quickly as his short legs could carry him. Watching him run off, Ashara turned back to Ned with the same suspicion as before. "What did you say to him?"

He smiled sheepishly. "How do you feel about going to the museum this weekend?"

She sighed. "You bribed him with that exhibit about the Ancient Night's Watch, didn't you?"

"…Maybe."

xx

Jon sighed to himself as he trudged out onto the playground with his lunch sack in one hand and his book in the other. This public school thing was going to take some getting used to. Sitting in a full classroom of students was a big step away from the home tutors his father had insisted on hiring. He plopped himself down on a bench, rummaging through the bag in search of the goodies his aunt was sure to have packed him.

"C'mon, what ya cryin' for?"

His head whipped around to the direction the shouting had come from, his face tightening with anger as he took in the sight before him. A group of boys- a number of them his own age or older- surrounded a small, red-haired girl, and the closer he drew to them, the more he could make out the ringleader. Ramsay Bolton, a boy from his class that he'd pegged as a bully from their first introduction that morning. Furious, he picked up speed and raced toward them.

He watched as Ramsay pulled at the girl's hair, her big blue eyes obscured by tears and her pretty face flushed a beet red as she swatted at him. Jon grabbed Ramsay's arms, gently releasing the girl's hair before giving the other boy a hard shove into the nearby wall. Bolton's minions stopped their teasing instantly, staring at him slack-jawed as he grabbed Bolton's collar like he'd seen in the movies, shoving the other boy back against the rough concrete of the wall.

"Didn't your momma ever tell not to pick on girls? You leave her alone, you hear me?"

Ramsay, wide-eyed and stupefied, nodded without a sound, scurrying off the moment Jon let him go. The other boys took one look at Jon and did the same, leaving him alone with the girl and a supreme sense of satisfaction. He turned back to the girl, finding her staring at him with wide eyes. "Hey, you okay?"

She sniffled, wiped away her tears. "Yeah, thanks a lot." She pouted then, folding her arms. "I could have taken 'em if there wasn't so many. Babies."

Jon laughed, pleasantly surprised. This girl had some fire in her. "Yeah. They're just cowards to gang up on you. What's your name?"

She eyed him for a moment and then smiled. "Sansa Stark," she declared proudly.

He grinned. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Jon Snow." He cocked his head curiously. "You wanna have lunch with me, Sansa Stark?"

She frowned thoughtfully, looking him up and down. Jon had the distinct feeling he was being judged right then and there, and that judgment would somehow be very important. She nodded to herself after a moment, coming to a decision only she knew about. "Okay."

Jon smiled and held out a hand. She placed her hand in his, tiny compared to his own, and he led her to the bench he had been sitting on before, listening to her happy chatter along the way.

He was pleasantly surprised when later that afternoon, after classes let out for the day, he was suddenly greeted by a blur of auburn curls, "Jon!"

Somehow, they ended up sitting outside on a bench that afternoon with Sansa in Jon's lap, him reading to her from one of his favorite books. When Catelyn and Ashara came for them not soon after, there would be plenty of realizations of identities and connections. But until then, it was warm sunshine, smiles, and laughter as the first foundations for a lifelong bond were laid.

_King's Landing, 2014_

The silence that had since fallen between them was uncharacteristically tense. Sansa worriedly watched Jon as he sat across from her with his eyes downcast, idly scrapping his fork against his empty plate. More concerned for him than her dishware, she reached over and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Jon, talk to me."

He let out out a heavy breath. "The Aegon thing wasn't all that Margaery and I argued about."

The sinking feeling in her stomach seemed almost prophetic as he raised his eyes to meet hers, dark with emotion. She asked him quietly, "What happened?"

He delayed his response as he shifted under her searching gaze. His attention was diverted when he stretched out his arm and unexpectedly bumped into something solid. Picking it up, his brow furrowed with confusion.

It was a book of baby names.

"Sansa?"


	10. Ten: Innocence

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin

**Chapter Ten: Innocence**

"Maekar."

"Jaehaerys."

"Baelon."

"Gaemon."

"Aenys."

"Aelyx?"

Jon paused. "I like Aelyx." He hummed thoughtfully. "How about Vahaemorys?"

"Jon!"

He smirked. "What? We could call him Mory for short. Or Ham."

Sansa rolled her eyes, trying her best to look reprimanding. "No one should be that cruel," she stated, struggling to stifle her own smile. As Jon laughed, her efforts to keep up a chastising expression were quickly surrendered, and instead she reveled in the soft sounds of his mirth.

Jon grinned as he idly flipped through the book sitting between them, reclining back comfortably in his chair. "So Cella recruited you into the name game too, huh? I'm glad you too have become such good friends."

"So am I. She's feeling a little frazzled about that fact she's having a boy this time. We had an entire conversation about the how to's of changing a boy's diaper."

"Remember to duck?" He chuckled at the exasperated look she shot him. "Can't blame her after three girls." His face shadowed ever so slightly. "But you noticed she seems a bit bothered, too? I thought maybe it was maybe the pressure of carrying the male heir Aegon has been harping her about forever, but I thought she'd be relieved more than anything else since the doctor confirmed the sex."

Sansa frowned. "Are she and Aegon having problems?"

He snorted. "Beyond the fact they don't even like each other and Aegon can't keep his pants on? Nothing beyond the usual, as far as I know." He shook his head. "Never mind. It's better to focus on the positive, yeah? I'm going to be an uncle again."

"Another nephew," she continued encouragingly, only to cringe as she watched his face fall again. "Jon, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright."

"But it's not." She leaned closer, reaching up to cup his cheek as she looked at him with soft eyes. "It's not fair that Robb can keep being such a complete and utter arse that you don't even get to see your own nephews. This grudge he's holding, the way he seems to think that the fact that you and I have been together somehow villifies you for life is stupid and so beyond inappropriate. Besides, it takes two. If I can see Rickard and Torrhen, so should you."

Jon stared at her for a long moment of pure, befuddled wonder. Then he leaned down to press a simple, chaste kiss to her lips. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now let's talk middle names. Did you know Aelyx means 'protector'? I think that would pair well with Jon."

_King's Landing, Summer 2007_

Jon remembered his first meeting with Myrcella Baratheon well. From the first time he set eyes on her, his heart ached for her.

That fateful summer when he and Sansa had first become lovers, they managed to arrange a trip for the two of them when Sansa had expressed interest in touring some of the arts colleges in King's Landing. Jon had offered to escort her, his guilt over the deception of how close they truly were outweighed the anticipation of having precious time alone. They did indeed tour the colleges for their first two days there, planning to reserve the weekend for sightseeing. The only downside to the occasion is that Jon's Targaryen relatives had caught wind of his presence in the city and he had somehow been roped into attending the party celebrating Aegon's engagement. Truly, the only reason he went was to see Aemon and his grandmother, neither of whom were getting any younger.

He was honestly surprised Aegon had let himself fall into the trap the rest of their familial generation had fought so hard to get away from. Rhaenys had technically been engaged to Willas Tyrell since childhood, but when Elia had gone back to Dorne ten years before, Rhaenys had gone with her and not been back north since. When Rhaegar and Mace Tyrell tried to press the marital arrangement last year, even sending Willas to Sunspear, both Willas and Rhaenys had refused and ended their engagement themselves. They had come away as friends and as far as Jon knew, Willas was in an on-again, off-again relationship with Rhaenys' cousin, Tyene.

Dany had fought back as well. Jon would have raced back to King's Landing the moment he heard Daenerys was being pushed to date that detestable worm, Joffrey Baratheon, if Dany hadn't already taken matters into her own hands. He had worried incessantly when he heard she had run off with a biker by the name of Drogo and he hadn't thought much of her next choice after Drogo was killed in a shooting. Narrio...Mario, he couldn't remember the bloke's name, just that he'd ended up in prison. Jorah Mormont seemed saintly compared to those two, age difference or not. But the Mormonts were good folk, so despite Jorah's dubious past, the stable life he had provided for Dany and her son, Rhaego, gave Jon an immense sense of relief.

But every choice has a consequence, he remembered, as was presented before him in the form of Myrcella Baratheon, a fresh-faced sixteen, all warm innocence and sweet smiles. His stomach lurched as he imagined that sweetness and innocence smothered by the Targaryen name and Aegon's arrogance.

Every choice had a consequence. Aegon was originally supposed to fulfill the Tyrell contract after Rhaenys refused, and Dany would have been the means to court the powerful Lannister-Baratheon alliance. Neither had happened. Now it appeared Aerys and Rhaegar had cut their losses and gone after the more powerful option through any means necessary.

The whole thing was enough to make Jon physically sick.

"What the hell are you thinking?" was the only thing he could demand of his brother the moment he managed to pull him aside.

Aegon cast a sour look in his younger brother's direction, tearing his arm away from Jon's hold and smoothing the wrinkles out of his jacket sleeve. "What business is it of yours?"

"She's a child, Aegon."

"She's legal. We have parental consent."

"That's beyond the point. You can't honestly be thinking of going through with this."

"I don't have much of a choice in the matter."

Jon's mouth curled in disgust. "I forgot. It's too much to ask for you to make your own decisions."

Aegon snorted derisively. "What would you know about it, bastard?" When Jon bristled at the insult, Aegon smirked smugly, "Isn't this hypocritical, anyway? Or did you think no one knew about that girl you're hiding at Aemon's place?"

Jon's jaw tightened. "Leave her out of this."

"Then don't interfere in things that don't concern you."

Aegon turned to leave and Jon stared after him, narrowing his eyes at his brother's retreating back. "You'll destroy her." His voice was hoarse, choked back with emotion as he found he could feel nothing but dread over what would become of that poor girl's spirit.

Aegon glanced back at him over his shoulder, his expression unreadable as he gazed at his half-brother with blank eyes. "What else is new? This family crushes everyone."

And with that, he disappeared back into the house.

xx

"Have I told you how glad I am that we did this?"

Jon grinned at her comment. "Once or twice, but it's always nice to know."

Sansa leaned forward with a smile to brush her mouth mouth against his, teasing her tongue against his lips. Her ministrations earned a growl from him and when she pulled back, Jon swayed into her, seeking her lips again. Sansa kissed him lightly and then separated from him. "I am. Thank you for arranging it."

"You're welcome." He arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "What were you thinking about before?" he asked, nibbling on a piece of bacon from the half-eaten tray between them, "You seemed distracted."

"Mmm," she hummed dreamily, looking up at him with eyes dancing with hidden thoughts.

The room they were occupying was tucked away in the back of the townhouse where they were staying, graciously offered to them by Jon's Great-Uncle Aemon. Other than the early evenings when they had dinner together, the elderly man tended to leave them to their own devices, leaving plenty of time for the couple to enjoy time alone.

Sansa had awoken this morning by way of the sunlight streaming through the open window, bare skin caressed by the soft breeze coming from the window and wrapped up in sheets where her lover's warmth and scent still lingered. She had lain there languorously until Jon had soundlessly entered the room and gained her attention with caressing fingers skimming up her arm, and a delightful surprise came in the moment when she opened her eyes and smiled at him, wherein Jon presented her with breakfast in bed.

"I was just thinking," Sansa paused to munch on the last few pieces of melon from the bowl beside her. Most of what Jon had brought, a full spread of pancakes, bacon, poached eggs and fruit, had been devoured, leaving only the stray morsels they were still picking at. She almost felt bad about hoarding the remains of the fruit to herself. Watching Jon eat before had been experience, the juice dripping down his stubbled chin to the taut pectorals of his bare chest. She looked forward to exploring that later. "About last night…"

Though he tried to keep his expression still, Jon couldn't help when his lips twitched into a pleased smile. "Oh?"

"Mmm-hmm." She leaned back over to ghost a kiss against his mouth. "As enjoyable as it was, I'm feeling a little guilty."

His brow furrowed with concern. "Guilty? What about?"

Sansa bit her lip guiltily. "Lying. Neither my mom or Uncle Ned would have let us do this if they knew how..._close_, we've gotten."

Jon gave her a considering look. "Was it worth it?"

"To see you, spend time with you. Absolutely." She coquettishly looked up through her lashes. "I saw plenty of you last night."

"Getting bolder, aren't we?" he teased. "Uncle Ned's head would explode if he knew the main reason behind this trip was for you to have time and space to explore what you like in bed."

"Mmm, still educational in some roundabout way, I think." She cast a glance at the silk ties still knotted to the railings of the bed's headboard. "How are your wrists?"

He gave them an experimental shake, wincing at the soreness the movement caused and giving the faint bruising banding them a rueful glance. "I'll live. It's my own fault anyway. I know better. Struggling just pulls them tighter. I forgot myself." He shot her a pointedly accusing look.

"No need to dance around it," she replied boldly, "You 'forgot yourself' the moment my mouth was around your cock."

"Cheeky." He chuckled. "Have you thought some more about whether you want to try the reverse?"

She hesitated. In the weeks after their first time, most of their explorations were by necessity short and sweet, stolen moments where they couldn't fully afford to get wrapped up in one another. But still, Sansa had discovered small things about her preferences. If anyone had told her a month ago that _trust_ of all things would be such a big turn-on for her, she would have thought them crazy, but that was exactly what made his weight levered over her, firm but gentle hands pinning her arms down, so utterly arousing.

She adored the feel of him, the muscle and the strength, the pure masculinity of his body moving above or below her. The sense of safety and care she felt when he touched her enthralled her, as did the sensation of letting go and knowing that he would never fail to attend to every request, every desire, every need.

That he reversed their roles without hesitation the night before had astonished and delighted her. It lit a fire in her veins to witness his surrender, to see him desperate but trusting, watching him utterly fall apart and knowing she was the one responsible.

She watched the flex of his Adam's apple as he swallowed the last of his juice and remembered a similar reaction the moment her lips had closed around the head of his sex. She licked her lips as he raised his eyes to hers, and she guessed her desire must have been evident by the way his gaze darkened to a near-black. "We could build up to it?"

"Absolutely."

She nipped at his bottom lip, moaning with abandon as he slid his tongue into her mouth, no hesitation present as he quickly set the breakfast tray aside. She buried her hands into his hair, attacking his mouth with fervor as he ran his hands up her thighs, parting her legs to pull her closer to him, urging her to wrap them around his waist.

She obeyed his silent request, legs hooking around his hips just in time to give her balance as he cupped her buttocks, dragging her down. He tugged her to him as he pitched them both to crash forward into the mattress. The new position molded her against his body, all of her within his reach as his hands ran feverishly over her body.

Sansa mewled with pleasure as his pelvis angled into hers, allowing her to feel him hard and wanting against her inner thigh. Suddenly the clothes they had thought it wise to slip into for breakfast were an unwelcome impediment. She had gotten him free of his t-shirt and was pushing down his shorts, Jon rucking her nightdress up to her waist, when a sudden gasp broke through their passionate haze.

"Oh, sorry!"

The couple shot apart as quickly as explosive shrapnel at the unexpected interruption, their eyes darting to the doorway to spot a very mortified Myrcella Baratheon, her face flushed a beet-red as she had slapped a hand over her eyes.

"I am so sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt!"

Though Sansa buried her face in her hands with a helpless moan and Myrcella looking close to hyperventilating in the doorway, Jon, while fairly embarrassed himself, couldn't help but chuckle. He rose from the bed, pulling up his bottoms, and grabbed his t-shirt from the floor. "It's alright, Myrcella. We can go out to the other room."

Though still blushing heavily, Myrcella removed her hand from her face and gave him a nod, casting one last glance at Sansa before scurrying off to the other room. After she left, Jon sat on the edge of the bed, regarding his lover with a mixture of amusement and exasperation as he found her practically cocooned in the blankets. He gently pulled down the sheet, revealing her disheveled head of auburn hair and the sheepish smile she gave him once exposed. "Why are you shy all of a sudden? If I remember right, you were the one jumping me last night."

She flushed, nestling her head against his shoulder to hide her face against the fabric of his shirt. "Don't know. It's different when it's just us, I guess." She glanced up at him shyly. "Sorry," she mumbled, feeling uncomfortably like the blushing virgin she hadn't been in weeks.

He smiled, "It's alright. It's cute." He dropped a kiss to her forehead, standing once more. "I'll go see what she wants."

She nodded and he gave her a smile, before leaving the room to find his inquisitive blonde visitor standing in the nearby sitting room, looking at the antiques and knickknacks Aemon had displayed there.

"So what is it you need?"

Myrcella jumped at the sound of his voice, her head whirling around. She studied him standing at the edge of the hallway, leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest- hair mussed, clothes wrinkled but much more modest than the eyeful she'd received earlier, his expression questioning but friendly.

"I…I wanted to talk to you…I…um…"

At first, she was discomforted by his complete lack of resemblance he had to her fiance, having geared herself up in a familiar fashion to deal with a Targaryen. But after a moment, those differences were comforting rather than strange. His dark, rugged looks made his handsomeness more accessible than the others' off-putting Valyrian looks. That, and the more mature, settled look to his face, the gentle, thoughtful air about him, were more than Aegon could ever hope to achieve. He smiled at her and she visibly relaxed.

"I-I am sorry, again. I shouldn't have walked in like that…Aemon said it was alright, but-" She flushed as she realized how ridiculous that statement sounded when spoken aloud. "I really should have knocked first."

Jon waved his hand dismissively, "Don't worry about it. No harm was done. Though Sansa might take a while to get over her embarrassment."

"Sansa? Was that the woman with you?"

He nodded. "Yeah. That's her. If you stick around a bit and she finally gets over being so embarrassed, you can meet her. I think you'd like her.

There was a soft, contented look to his face as he spoke of his Sansa and the more his smile grew, the harder she found it to fight her own. Eventually, she grinned at his besotted expression, commenting knowingly, "You love her."

She clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified she had said something so audacious to a near-stranger but Jon only laughed. The sound was soft and pleasant, she rather liked it.

"I do," he replied, "Very much." He settled himself into a nearby armchair, motioning for her to do the same. "So not to be rude, but what is it you wanted to talk about, Myrcella?"

She sat on the couch across from him. "I saw you and Aegon the other day. I wasn't eavesdropping or anything, but your body language was rather obvious."

His expression hardened a little, but she had a fair idea it wasn't about her, but rather the subject of conversation and he nodded for her to continue. "I know you don't get along well with your dad's family and the idea of me marrying Aegon makes you really uncomfortable…But I have to ask you not to get involved."

A look of pure surprise passed over his face and she sighed, looking down, "You seem like a good man, Jon, and I really appreciate how worried you seem to be about me, but I'm worried about you too if you get mixed up in this. I don't want to see you get hurt just because you were concerned."

She glanced up, giving him a wan smile. "I might not look it, Jon, but I'm a big girl. I know what I'm getting into. I know Aegon's type. I've been expecting this for years. It just comes from being who we are." She bit her lip uncertainly. "If you don't mind, though, I'd really like us to be friends. Personally, I think you're the best this family has to offer."

Jon's awestruck expression soon melted into a warm smile and a muffled chuckle as he stepped forward and pulled her up, drawing her into a friendly embrace. "You're one of a kind, Myrcella Baratheon. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have as a sister-in-law."

Her face lit up as she drew back enough to look up at him. "Thank you."

He nodded, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Myrcella met his eyes, saw their soft look, and wondered at the warmth of the brotherly gesture, the likes she'd never seen from her own. Certainly not from Joffrey, and Tommen was still young enough for cuddles and kisses to be acceptable. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Jon asked her solemnly.

"Want to? No. Need to? Yes. I'm a Lannister, Jon. I've been destined for this since I was born. I'm not a bride- I'm a business merger."

He smiled sadly. "I'll stay out of it, but I want you to be careful, Myrcella. I'll be here if you need me, alright?"

"Alright."

They drew apart and Sansa chose that moment to poke her head curiously around the corner, looking a bit more settled in a clean pair of jeans and what looked to be one of Jon's shirts, knotted at the waist. Her hair was hastily combed and pulled back into a messy bun. "Jon?"

Jon looked over, his face lighting up as he motioned for her to join them. She stepped forward uncertainly, leaning into her lover's side as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, meeting the curious eyes of the newcomer she'd only been briefly exposed to.

Myrcella held out a hand to her, smiling hesitantly. "Myrcella Baratheon."

Sansa returned the gesture, shaking her hand, and as a more relaxed, confident look that settled over Myrcella's features, she smiled warmly. "Sansa Stark. I'm glad to meet you, Myrcella."

"You too."


	11. Eleven: Little Goodbyes

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin

**Chapter Eleven: Little Goodbyes**

"Momma?"

Jon and Sansa turned their heads toward the groggy voice that broke through their conversation. Their interruption came from a mussed tangle of auburn curls, wrinkled fire-engine pajamas, and sleepy eyes that blinked up at them over the stuffed wolf toy he held nestled against his chest.

Sansa unconsciously straightened in her chair as she studied her son. "Bryn, sweetie, what are you doing out of bed?"

"Momma, my throat hurts." The child's voice was hoarse in clear evidence of his illness and when he released a harsh, racking cough, Sansa was immediately out of her seat, kneeling before him and placing a hand against his forehead.

Jon looked on with concern as she let out a relieved sigh after finding a cool brow, a welcome sign his cold was beginning to wan instead of getting worse, and took the child by his hand to lead him to the table. Jon helped Bryn up into the chair beside him and Sansa shuffled into the kitchen, mentally counting the hours since she had given the boy his last dose of medicine. "Just a second, baby. I'll get your medicine."

Bryn made a face. "I don't want that stuff. It's yucky."

"You have to, sweetie. It'll help you get better. I promise."

Bryn turned pleading eyes on toward the man beside him and Jon was sympathetic, but held his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, little man. Gotta do what your mom says."

Brynden pouted, folding his arms tighter around his plush toy as he muttered a petulant, "Traitor," under his breath. Jon sighed and reached out, running a hand through the boy's matted curls. Never one to hold a grudge, Bryn peered up at him with wide, adoring eyes and when Sansa returned with the cough syrup, it was two pleading looks she was met with instead of one.

Smiling inwardly, she sighed in defeat, knowing there was little she could do to resist, especially in light of a full frontal attack of the puppy dog eyes from both of her boys. "If I get you some juice afterward, will that be better?"

Bryn nodded and the compromise was made. A spoonful of medicine and a long chorus of gagging noises later, Sansa kept her promise as she set a cup of watered-down apple juice before her son. Bryn plopped himself down in Jon's lap and Jon groaned dramatically. Both adults had to laugh at the wholly unimpressed look Bryn gave him.

The juice soothed Bryn's sore throat and, despite the roughness of his voice, he babbled happily to Jon about the goings-on he had missed in the few days since they had seen each other. Listening to a detailed account of mother and son's weekend trip to the nature museum, Jon was struck by the realization that his earlier dramatics hadn't been entirely fictional. Brynden and Daeron both were growing up so fast. Daeron was taller, befitting the fact that he was five months older, but Bryn was certainly heavier in Jon's arms. Unlike the slender Daeron, the younger boy possessed a sturdy build that hinted at the strong, broad frame his Tully heritage would guarantee when he grew older. It reminded Jon of Robb as a child, and he felt a familiar pang in his chest.

Fatigue soon began to set back in for the little boy, his gray eyes constantly falling closed despite Bryn's efforts. He snuggled closer to Jon, instinctively trying to burrow closer to the warm skin he could feel through the thin cotton of Jon's shirt. A rich chuckle rumbled through Jon's chest, like a deep tickle against Bryn's ear from where he was pressing it to hear the heartbeat there. "Daddy," he murmured drowsily as strong, familiar arms lifted him up. He sleepily protested going back to bed, but he felt Momma stroke a hand through his hair, Daddy rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles.

"Go to sleep, sweet boy," he heard Daddy say, "I'll be here in the morning."

Safe and warm, Brynden Eddard Snow closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep cradled in his father's arms.

_The Vale, 2009_

"Gods, Sansa, what the hell is your problem?!"

"My problem?! What in the Seven's name are you even doing here?"

"You wouldn't answer my calls. What was I supposed to do?"

"Maybe take a hint!"

The argument had escalated quickly and violently as a tornado tearing downto the ground. The racket they were making had long since gathered spectators, though they chose to keep a safe distance given Sansa's habit for wild gesticulation and the glazed look of barely restrained anger in Jon's eyes.

The unfortunate audience was Sansa's roommates Mya and Myranda, along with Mya's visiting brother, Gendry. They had all been awoken by the shouting, startled to not only find a strange man in their living room, but by the fact their normally easy-going friend was screaming like a banshee at said stranger. Mya was particularly affected, her face pale and wrought as she worried her lip with obvious concern. Gendry was beside his sister, arms folded across his chest as he scowled irritably. Even Myranda, who tended to enjoy hysterics, had had enough of the dramatics.

"Enough!" she shouted, startling the arguing pair into a dumbfounded silence. "Keep it up and I'll get Mya's hunky brother to boot you both out the back door."

"Randa!" Mya hissed as Gendry flushed brightly, but Myranda ignored her as she placed her hands at her hips and glared at the offending pair.

"I mean it. The rest of us are going back to bed. Sansa, if you and what's-his-name can't find a way to do this civilly, you'll be finding somewhere else to sleep tonight."

"I pay part of the rent," Sansa countered half-heartedly.

Myranda didn't miss a beat. "My father owns the building."

"Touché."

Sansa and Jon were soon left alone, eyeing each other warily in a heavy, awkward silence. Finally, Sansa broke the standoff with an irritated sigh. "Why are you here, Jon?"

Jon swallowed hard. The tension in her posture and the defensive way she held herself away from him, pulled painfully at his heartstrings. Especially knowing he was the cause. "I wanted to talk to you, to see you before...before..."

"Before you marry another woman?" Sansa snapped, wrapping her arms protectively around herself. "What is there left to say, Jon?"

"That's not...I don't..." he trailed off helplessly, the knot of emotion in his chest tightening with every moment until he was mortified to feel his eyes grow wet. "You know I don't want to."

His reluctant tears were the final straw, and the last of Sansa's defenses fell away. With a weary sigh, she held out a hand. "Come here, Jon."

Jon shuffled forward hesitantly and she tugged him down to sit with her on the sofa, guiding him to stretch out and rest his head in her lap. Sansa stroked his hair, meeting his gaze with tender eyes as he looked up at her tiredly. "Do you not love me anymore?" he murmured, his voice no longer holding any of its previous accusation, only vulnerability.

"Of course I love you. It's because I love you that I know you as well as I do. You've already made up your mind."

"It's not what I want," he protested weakly.

"Not completely," she agreed, running her thumb along his forehead to soothe away the wrinkles furrowing his brow. "But I know you, Jon Snow. I know how much you love that baby and I know you would do absolutely anything to be a good father to him."

"It's not fair." He turned his face to nestle against her stomach, annoyed to feel the return of a familiar sting to his eyes.

Sansa hummed with agreement. "No, it's not." She could hardly believe it herself, the lengths Rhaegar and the Tyrells would go to manipulate Jon. The only saving grace in the situation was Jon's assertion that Margaery likely didn't have anything to do with her father's threat to deny Jon any kind of custody to his son if he didn't marry her. Margaery had apparently looked as surprised and horrified as Jon when Mace made his announcement, but she did nothing to fight it.

And with Rhaegar throwing his full support behind Mace, no amount of lawyers or advocates the Starks could hire had any hope of matching the ability the Targaryens and Tyrells to manipulate the legal system. If Jon had any hope of being in his son's life, he and Margaery were to marry within the month.

"I want to stay with you."

"Then stay," she responded simply, but the torn indecision was evident in his eye and she smiled sadly. "You see? You've already decided."

He reached for her hand, entwining their fingers. "I don't wanna lose you," he whispered hoarsely.

"You'll never lose me," she raised their joined hands, brushing a kiss against his knuckles. "You just can't have me that way you want."

"I know, but…"

She shook her head. "No, don't use me as your excuse or your reason. I'm not going to beg or plead with you to stay with me, no matter what we both want. I've had three months to come to terms with the idea of letting go of you, Jon, and before that when we weren't talking, the possibility was always there for over a year."

She smiled sadly. "I'm a big girl. I can accept what the world's thrown at us. And I know you, love. You can't just walk away. Your heart won't let you."

With that, the decision was made.

He closed his eyes, nestling further into her lap. "I love you," he whispered fiercely.

"I love you too, Jon." She continued to caress his head, letting his soft dark hair sift through her fingers as she felt him slowly relax, his breathing growing slow and deep. A sudden rustling sound caught her attention and her head snapped up, careful not to disturb Jon. Her eyes met those of the shadowy figure she recognized as Gendry. His expression was indiscernible, but with nothing more than a lingering look to the man lying before her so vulnerably, he retreated back to Mya's room, leaving her to ponder.

Jon, having felt her tension, shifted and groggily questioned, "Sansa, sweetheart, what's that matter?"

"It's nothing," she continued to stroke his hair, recalling how over the years it never failed to calm him, "Come on, Jon. You can sleep in my bed tonight. I'll sleep on the couch."

Too tired to protest, Jon agreed.

xx

He was startled awake by the creaking of the old floorboards in the hall, watching quietly as the door to Sansa's door was pushed open and her familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway. Moonlight poured in through the window, casting a pallid glow upon the tousled auburn curls falling around her shoulders.

A lump rose in his throat as he watched approach and slid onto the bed, staring at him imploringly.

"Sansa, what is it?"

She looked down, hesitating, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. She glanced back up, expression a mix of determination, need and vulnerability. "Jon."

He studied her closely, searching. He slowly leaned close, kissing her softly. He drew back a moment later, meeting those river blue eyes reflecting nothing back at him but love. She whispered his name again, soft and sweet. "Jon."

Their lips met again and he leaned back, taking her with him. She nestled into his body, a perfect fit, her arms wrapping around him and legs entangling with his. It was an embrace they wouldn't part from until the dawn broke over the horizon.

xx

"Good morning."

Never a morning person, Sansa stared blearily at the cheerful woman who had greeted her, muttering her gratitude as Mya placed a cup of coffee in her hands. "Morning, Mya."

The other woman nodded, leaning back against the counter as she curiously perused her friend. "So what's the story with John Doe from last night?"

Sansa glanced back in the direction of her bedroom, where Jon was still sound asleep. "Just a boy."

"An ex?"

Sansa took a sip from her coffee and smiled behind the rim. "Not quite."

Mya cocked an eyebrow, amused at her evasion but still clearly confused. "I'm not following."

Sansa shrugged, "He's everything," she answered simply, as if it answered all the questions the other woman could possibly have.

And strangely enough, it seemed to, given the wistful look that came over Mya's face and the thoughtful smile she gave Sansa.

"Mornin'." Gendry, being the big man he was, seemed to lumber into the kitchen, wearing only his boxers and rumbled hair as he made his way to the refrigerator. He took out a carton of orange juice, but a pointed glare from his sister had him lowering the container sheepishly after he took a sip.

As Mya moved to retrieve a glass for him, mumbling under her breath about devolution of manners, Sansa cast a contemplative look in Gendry's direction, keeping her voice low enough for only the two of them to hear."

"How much did you hear last night?"

His face was impassive and he shrugged. "Enough."

Sansa only nodded, not sure what else to say.

"Look, Sansa, we don't know each other very well, but Mya really cares about you. This is going to be hard on you, isn't it?"

She glanced at him and sighed, nodding once more. "Yeah," she murmured, "Yeah, it will be. This is going to hurt like hell, but I'll make it work."

He nodded thoughtfully. It was honestly none of his business, but if the small bit he had overheard the night before on his way to the bathroom was any indication, things were about to get very difficult for one of his sister's best friends. "Is he worth it?"

"He's always worth it."

xx

Florescent lights shined above her head, reflecting obnoxiously off the pristinely white walls of the exam room, surrounding her in pallid, stifling monotony. She found herself feeling strangely vulnerable as she sat upon the table, goose bumps rising on her skin as the thin paper gown she wore left her susceptible to the chill of the room.

She idly swung her legs, the back of her heels tapping against the metallic surface of the step below, providing the only other sound in the room besides the rhythmic ticking of the clock in the corner. After an hour of waiting alone, she was sure she would be driven mad when the door finally clicked open and the doctor stepped inside, lab coat trailing around her feet as she closed the door behind her.

The doctor gave her a reassuring smile as her eyes left her clipboard and settled on Sansa. Sansa returned the gesture to the best of her ability, though the expression came out wan and weak, inadvertently reflecting her uneasiness.

"Hello, again, Ms. Stark. Sorry to have kept you waiting so long."

"It's fine. I can't exactly make a break for it garbed up in tissue paper."

The wisecrack fell flat a little flat, but the dry tone drew a small smile from the doctor as the older women drew up a chair to sit beside her, flipping through her notes. "I have your test results back. I can go over them now with you if you'd like."

"Please." Her throat tightened and Sansa wished she had brought someone with her.

"There is no doubt about it, Sansa. You _are_ pregnant." She paused, her expression grave as she glanced back up at the young woman. "You're nearly twelve weeks along. It's a good thing you came in when you did."

_Twelve weeks_. Tthe timing was unmistakable but the understanding didn't come right away, until a flicker of memory teased at the back of her mind.

_She slowly awoke to a pair of strong arms around her, the warm muscle of a male chest pressed up against her back. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the still-dark atmosphere to the bedroom. She instinctively knew who it was lying beside her, the scent of him, a warm, masculine spice, brushing against her nostrils as he sleepily nuzzled her neck. _

_As if stirred by thought, he shifted behind her, pulling her close until there was no space left between them. He threw a leg over hers, his hips and groin pressed to her behind. There was a deepness to the intimacy, a kind of closeness only transcended by the memory of what it felt to have him sheathed inside her, making their bodies one. She could feel him begin to harden against her backside and a deep, answering ache began to thrum from her very core. _

_Half-asleep, their familiarity with one another's bodies meant it took little to touch and stroke and ready, Jon slipping inside her before there was time for hesitation or coherent thought. They made love in a slow, drowsy haze, their climaxes cresting with a gentle warmth that lulled them right back into a deep, sound sleep. When they awoke again later that morning, the memory had faded to a feeling akin to a half-forgotten dream. _

_Forgotten it had been, indeed, as the slide and release of Jon's cock inside her had been bare and unrestrained. For the first time ever, they had failed to use a condom. _

However it had happened, there was no changing or denying it now. Sansa Stark was pregnant, and Jon Snow had taken his wedding vows to another woman five days before.


	12. Twelve: Pressure Valve

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin

**Chapter Twelve: Pressure Valve**

_Winterfell, 2009_

_Winterfell, 2009_

Deciding to tell the family without Jon (who had recently called and said he was about an hour out from the estate) was probably the worst decision Sansa had made in a while. In her defense, her intentions were good; she thought that if she talked to Ned and Catelyn reasonably, her mother would be less inclined to kill Jon at first sight and instead listen calmly to the whole explanation.

Unlikely, but worth a try.

_The long silence on the other end of the line did nothing to soothe Sansa's rising nerves, her hold on her cell phone growing into a desperate clutch that would have made her grateful for protective casing in any other circumstance. "Jon?"_

_Her anxiety must have come through clearly in her voice, as Jon was quick to respond. "I'm here. I'm...I'm just trying to process. And mostly to keep myself from asking stupid questions."_

"_Like what?"_

"_If you're sure, for one. I know you. You wouldn't call me if you weren't sure."_

_Sansa couldn't help herself, she cracked a small smile at that. "I am. The doctor confirmed everything."_

"_So you're both healthy?" _

"_My iron's a little down, but I've gotten supplements for that." She bit her lip, deliberating her next words. "You're so calm about this. I honestly thought you'd be more upset." _

_Her fears had been fruitless and gone against everything she knew about his character, but parts of her had been afraid he would blame her. Her first semester away, a Vale doctor had decided her body had matured enough to regulate itself and had given her the option of weaning off of birth control. Still hurting from her breakup with Jon and far from eager to reenter the dating world, she hadn't seen any reason to continue the routine. _

"_How could I be upset?" His voice was achingly familiar, gentle and warm with affection. It was a tone Jon had used with her since they were children. She could hear the shuffling in the background that indicated him moving around, then the clacking of a keyboard a moment later. "It looks like I can catch the red-eye and be there by morning. Will you be alright until then?"_

_Sansa let out a short, incredulous laugh, tears of disbelief coming to her eyes. "Jon, you're on your honeymoon."_

_He snorted and such an uncharacteristic sound made her brows nearly arch to her hairline. "Margaery isn't any happier to have me here than I am to be here. She's been hinting for days that I might be happier elsewhere. I'll be there in the morning, okay?"_

"_Okay."_

Ned Stark has always considered himself a reasonable man. Reasonable, rational, perhaps a bit stubborn, but that was just a trait most Stark men (and women) shared. He tried to be that kind of man, that kind of father, and for all his years of life, of marriage and fatherhood, he had tried to hold to those ideals. He was no saint, yes, but he found those ideals sorely tested, however, as he faced one of a parent's worst nightmares made flesh. He could barely hear the sounds of Catelyn struggling to hold back her temper over the rush of blood in his head.

It took all the strength of his will, all his love for Sansa, to keep his voice calm and steady. He sighed, his breath husky and ragged, grateful for the table obscuring the view of his fists clenching at his sides. "Pregnant, Sansa?"

The disappointment in his voice made Sansa flinch, a reaction that worsened when Catelyn proved to not have the same sense of restraint as Eddard. "How could you do something so reckless?!"

Sansa's gaze was miserable and apprehensive she stared at the hands folded in her lap. When she dared to raise her eyes to meet her mother's, she instantly recoiled at the betrayal she found there. "Mom…"

"No, not even reckless. Incredibly stupid!"

At that, Ned placed a tentative hand on his love's arm. "Cat, perhaps you should take a little while before we talk about this further. Or at least try to calm yourself."

Catelyn clenched her jaw, visibly straining to keep herself from yelling. "Ned..." 

"Cat."

Catelyn sighed, reluctantly conceding. "Alright. For now," She looked at Sansa resignedly, "I promise not to lose my temper again."

Tears pooled in Sansa's eyes, obscuring her vision, as she wrapped her arms protectively around her middle. She could never stand to see that kind of hurt, that kind of disappointment in her mother's eyes.

"M-Mom, Dad, I can never say how sorry I am…"

It was a sign of how distraught she was that she didn't notice her slip in referring to Ned as her father, nor did anyone else.

Ned sighed again, rubbing a hand over his face, while Catelyn found the other, their fingers tightly enlacing. If anything, this could remain the constant in their world, violently changing as that world was. The support and reassurance that had characterized their relationship for twenty-five years, the anchor they needed to weather the storm.

"Sansa, sweetheart. Have you given any thought to what you're going to do? What about school? What about your future?"

"I don't know, Mom. I'm sorry, but I truly don't. Everything is happening so fast, I've just been taking it one step at a time. I know I can do this. I just want you to trust me enough to know that."

Ned reached out with his free hand, enveloping his niece's trembling fingers in a warm and reassuring grip. "Sansa, we do trust you. But honey, this is….This is serious, Sansa. What about school? You are a wonderful student, and if you keep on the right track, you can do anything. But you've made yourself responsible for another life."

Catelyn nodded in agreement. "There's nothing easy about parenthood, darling. You have to realize the responsibility that comes with this. Your life is going to change, Sansa, and you have to be ready to deal with that."

"I know, Mom. I'm ready to be a mother to my baby. I know I am."

Her grasp on her husband's hand tightening almost painfully, Catelyn fought back tears at what she saw as her daughter's earnest naiveté. "Oh, sweetheart. Having a child is never easy. Especially when one is so young."

Sansa dropped her eyes. She felt suddenly tired, the weight of the past week pressing down on her worse then ever before. The thought that her and Jon's struggle was only beginning, only exhausted her more.

"Sansa, at least do one thing for me. Give me the name of the boy who did this to you."

Her head shot up, her eyes wide; for the first time she could remember, she felt fear in her mother's presence. "Mom, please. Give me a chance to talk to him before you do anything. Please."

"His name, Sansa."

"Promise me, Mom."

"Catelyn," Ned interrupted, his tone conciliatory but firm. "You need to take a breath, my love. This kind of stress isn't good for the babies. Either of them."

Sansa blinked. "Babies?" she questioned weakly. "Plural?"

Ned's grimace and the guilt that flashed over Catelyn's face, as well as the hand that instinctively went to her stomach, was all the answer she needed.

Watching Sansa's face grow alarmingly pale, Catelyn sighed, eager to both calm her daughter and change the subject. "Fine, you have my promise. But give me his name."

Sansa ducked her head, her hair falling forward around her face, and took in a deep, shaky breath in a hope to somehow steel her resolve. "Jon. It's Jon."

The eerie silence that followed was broken suddenly by the sound of a car in the driveway. Ned quietly excused himself, his face expressionless as he rose to his feet and left the room. Catelyn faced her daughter, struck silent and shocked by her admission.

"Sansa," she began softly, hesitantly.

"Mom," Sansa broke in, her expression pale and harried, "Please, don't judge us yet. There's so much more to the story."

Catelyn nodded, giving the young woman as reassuring a smile as she could. "Alright, honey."

There wasn't time for further explanation, however, as boots slapping against the hardwood caught their attention. Sansa turned her head just in time to see Robb emerging from the doorway behind her, jogging through the living room toward the front door. Stunned, her mind buzzed as she wondered how long he had been standing and listening, and then a sick sense of foreboding set in as she realized that since their uncle had taken the long way through the garage, her brother would reach Jon first.

xx

The first hit caught him completely by surprise. By the second, some of the shock had begun to wear off. The third came with a profound sense of betrayal on both sides.

Jon's keys hit the concrete floor just a minute before he did, as Robb fell over him with fierce, furious fists, and the two men collapsed to the ground.

"Robb! Fucking hell, Robb, stop!"

"My sister. My fucking sister, Jon!" With new clarity, Jon realized Sansa must have gone ahead and told her father about her pregnancy without him. Though falling into the familiar guilt swamping through him was tempting, instinct won out over letting his best friend pummel him to death.

Robb had spent years working behind a desk at Stark Steel versus the weekends Jon spent conditioning with the reserve. He managed to dislodge Robb's hold on him and deftly maneuvered himself out from underneath the other man. He stood up, holding his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture.

"Robb, wait! Let me explain!"

But he had underestimated Robb's temper, as the red-head moved to attack him again.

"You're married, you son of a bitch. That Tyrell girl's having your baby! You had to take Sansa down with you?!"

Jon understood Robb's rage, his sense of betrayal, he really did. But they weren't children anymore where they could wallop on each other and have it be forgiven twenty minutes later. They were grown men, husbands and fathers both, family in all but blood. Jon expected better.

Those feelings were clearly echoed in Sansa when she, Catelyn and Ned found them a few minutes later, Sansa screaming and crying for Robb to let him go, to just stop. How many times, Jon thought guiltily, had she been here, been helpless and afraid, over the past few months because of him?

In the end, he was the only one not surprised at the way she clung to him after Robb rolled off him, her hands running frantically over his body in search of injuries. He held her tightly, even more so as she began to tremble from her silent sobs. 

xx

Hours later, once things had calmed down enough for Sansa and Jon to paint a clearer picture of their circumstances. Robb stood in the doorway to the living room again, watching the pair seated together on the sofa. He frowned deeply, his brow furrowing as he fought for words.

His eyes caught Sansa's, full of angry betrayal, and he changed his mind, looking between them once more with a tense expression and a clenched jaw. He gave up with a sigh, turned and disappeared down the hallway.

_The rest of the family's reactions had gone infinitely better. _

_Bran had gazed down at his older sister, kneeling beside his wheelchair, with soft eyes, wise beyond their years. "Oh, Sansa," he said simply, sympathetically rather than pityingly. When he patted his leg invitingly, Sansa rested her head upon his thigh. Gentle fingers stroked her hair as she finally let herself cry. _

_Jon had fidgeted nervously under the force of Arya's glare. Preoccupied as he was, it was only Sansa who saw the fleeting hint of guilt and concern in her cousin's expression at the sight of the bruises on Jon's face, before her glower reinforced and she reeled back to punch Jon hard in the arm. _

"_Ow! Arya!"  
_

"_You better get your shit together," she leveled at Jon, folding her arms before turning back to Sansa. "You two have always had such fucked up timing." Seeing their incredulous looks, she scoffed. "Did you seriously think __**everyone **__was oblivious? Give me more credit."_

_She nodded decisively, turning to go before pausing, glancing back at Sansa over her shoulder. "I'm gonna drive back with you to your place Sansa. That stupid mechanic you've got staying with you hasn't texted me yet even though I gave him my number like a week ago."_

_Sansa blinked. "Gendry? When did you talk to Gendry?"_

_Arya shrugged, suspiciously nonchalant. "You weren't picking up your phone last week, so I called the landline and he was the one who picked up. We talked for a while and I gave him my number. Stupid hasn't used it yet, I need to set him straight."_

Silence fell over the two left behind and they shared a look, Jon's eyes dark with tired frustration, Sansa's bright with the glisten of quietly gathering tears. She rested her head on his shoulder and Jon slipped an arm around her shoulders in response. She leaned against his side, fitting to him so seamlessly it was more than natural. Her hands wrapped around his neck, her fingers clutching at his collar. He turned into her as he felt her trembling.

He moved his arms to her waist and pulled her into his lap. She tilted her head up, her cheek smoothing over his as they moved so their foreheads touched. She let out a shaky breath, shifting so she straddled his hips, desperate to be closer to him.

Still shaking, she burrowed her face into the crook of his neck, finding the warm, smooth skin she had been craving, and rubbed her nose against his nape with relief. Jon tightened his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. Brushing his lips against her neck, he breathed out slowly, closing his eyes.

"We'll be okay. I promise. I'm gonna take care of you both."

xx

"You okay, darlin'?"

In any other circumstance, Sansa would have been mortified to be found in the state she was in, but knowing it was her Great Uncle Brynden speaking from behind her, her embarrassment couldn't outweigh her shock. She wiped away her tears, turning her head to face him. "Uncle? What are you doing here?"

Brynden came to sit beside her. "Your mother called me. I don't know if you kids know this, but when my little Cat calls, I come running." He winked. "It's what uncles do."

Sansa giggled at the display. Thinking of her Uncle Ned, she had to agree. "I take it Mom told you what's going on?"

"Yep. I'm sure you're tired of talking about it by now, but I'm here just in case. That young man of yours still here?"

"No," she grimaced at her next words, "He had to get back to his wife." She glanced up at her uncle and was relieved to see no judgment in his eyes. "And they were expecting him back at the university."

"And everything's alright with you two? Do you need me to kick his ass?"

Sansa laughed softly. "Thank you, but no. Jon's a good man, and he's doing the best he can. That's all I could ever ask."

"Good to hear." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Still, darlin', you need to know, it's going to be okay." He squeezed her shoulder. "It's going to be okay."

She felt her defenses began to slip against her will as she leaned into the circle of his arms, into the comfort of him, and she smiled as she breathed in a familiar scent from her childhood: leather and the cigars Brynden favored. She thought again of uncles, of how her mother spoke of Brynden much more warmly than her distant father, of Ned and his place in her life.

"Uncle Brynden? How would you feel about a namesake?"

xx

_King's Landing, 2014_

So focused on the book open before her, she nearly jumped with surprise at the hands that suddenly came to rest on her shoulders. Without looking back, she knew it was Jon returned from putting Bryn to bed and she immediately relaxed. Strong fingers began to rub her shoulders and she unconsciously arched against his hands, seeking more of his touch. Jon smiled, whispering into her ear, "Hi."

"Hi."

"So I was thinking."

"What about?"

He gently nudged her to lean forward, moving his hands down her back. "Summer's coming up."

"Mmm, yeah. Just a couple of months."

"I talked to Dany the other day. She sounds happy, settled down. She's in Braavos now. Bryn seemed pretty interested when he heard."

She chuckled, her voice colored with light humor. "I take it he showed you his drawings. He's gotten to the Essos chapter in that book you got him and he's been trying to replicate the pictures."

He flexed his fingers, kneading firmly at a particularly nasty knot in her lower back. "He wouldn't go to bed without showing them to me. Takes after his mother there. You and I both know I couldn't sketch my way out of a paper bag."

"He's not that much like me. He has a lot of his father in him too. Just look at what he's drawing."

He smiled proudly. "Fair enough... Dany and I both think it's about time I met Rhaego, so I was thinking about taking Daer there for a visit this summer. I, um, I'd like it if you and Bryn came with us."

"Jon, you know I trust you completely with Bryn. I'm fine with you taking him with you, you don't need to include me just because you think I'll worry."

"That's not what I meant. I thought... I thought the four of us could go together, as a family."

She went absolutely still under his hands. "Jon," she started warningly.

"Sansa," he responded calmly, nonchalantly continuing the massage. "Just think about it, okay?"

"Fine." With visible effort, she breathed out and let herself relax. It felt best to change the subject. "Bryn wants to go back to the museum soon. Do you think Daeron would be interested?"

"He'll jump at the opportunity to spend time with his brother, so I think so."

Sansa smiled, humming in agreement. The boys had been inseparable from the moment they had been introduced, when Daeron was six months old and Brynden a newborn. "I have next weekend off. Does that work for you."

"Sounds like a plan." His hands stopped once more and he stared at her contemplatively for a moment before he leaned forward, brushing his lips against her nape. She tensed beneath his touch and took in a sharp breath, her head dropping back to grant him better access as he trailed kisses down her neck, gently tugging down the collar of her sweater to nip at her shoulder.

Her breath grew baited, her heart pounded at wickedly talented attentions of those silken lips, but when a soft moan spilled from her throat, Sansa snapped back to reality and moved away from him. She turned around to face him and Jon returned her gaze with puzzlement, eyes dark with desire but full of inquiry.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?" his voice was thick as velvet, washing over her in its sensuality and she tensed, rising to her feet to put some distance between them.

"Touch me like that. It's not right."

"Who says?"

"The Faith. Polite company. Any decent person. Any morals we have left," there was a beat as she paused. "Your wedding vows."

His jaw tightened. "None of that matters. I'm sick of doing the right thing."

She opened her mouth to reply, but unable to find the words she snapped it shut and sought to put more distance between them instead. Much to her chagrin, with every step back she took, Jon followed after, and before long, she was in the middle of the living room with him standing nearby- close, but not invasively so. His expression was placid, his stance calm- he could be patient. He'd waited five years to be with her, twenty-eight to find a forever with her- he could wait a little longer.

"You're married, Jon."

"My marriage is over."

Sansa blinked. "What?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I told Margaery tonight that I know. About Daeron. That's what our fight was about."

"Jon..." Blown away, she could only stare at him. "I thought you were waiting. Your custody..."

"I've worked it out. Tyrion really came through. It's all planned, Sansa. All I have to do is make a call and sign some papers."

She shook her head, dazed with the amount of new information being presented to her. "Jon..." She could only draw out his name again helplessly.

"I know it's a lot to take in, Sansa, but I am so tired of fighting this."

"Jon, don't…"

"Don't what?" he asked huskily as he took another step forward, Sansa making no move to stop him this time. "Don't be tired of being without you? Don't be tired of giving up everything so everyone can be happy but us? Don't ask that of me, Sansa. It's not something I can give anymore."

He was close… so achingly close. She could feel the delicious warmth radiating from his body, his every breath- every exhalation, every brushing word- fanning across her skin. All she had to do was reach out and touch him… reach out just a little bit and he would be hers. _Finally_ hers.

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing thickly but holding on to the last tendrils of resistance.

"I'm tired of pretending. I'm not going to anymore. I love you, Sansa. That hasn't stopped." He caressed her cheek gently. "It's your choice now, sweetheart. What do you want?"


	13. Thirteen: Surrender

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)**  
By Myriddin

_Trigger warnings for mentions of war and related injury. All violence takes place off-screen. _

**Chapter Thirteen: Surrender**

She opened her eyes once more, feeling dazed and heady with need. She reached out and slipped her fingers into his belt loops, pulling him to her.

"I want you." She kissed him hard and delighted in his instant response as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against the warm strength of his body, "By the Seven, do I want you."

"Then have me."

It wasn't really an offer she had the power to refuse.

It was lips and tongue and teeth, hands and fingers and entwining limbs. Taste, touch, smell and sound were enhanced so sweetly by their longing to make up for lost time. Tangled up in each other to the point where they hardly knew where one began and the other ended, they clumsily began making their way down the hall. Never one for patience in the realm of touching her, Jon surrendered to the need to have her the moment they stumbled through the door to her room, backing her into the closest wall.

He broke away, reaching down with familiar precision to unsnap and unzip the restraints to her jeans. Sansa leaned back, breathless as he pulled down her pants, her underwear with them. Calloused hands slipping beneath her bare thighs for leverage finally broke her fuzzy awareness. Confused, she pushed at his hands. "What are you-?"

"Don't worry about it," was his simple reply, as he sank to his knees, effortlessly lifting her upward to rest her legs against his shoulders, creating a strange diamond shape around his head as her feet were still caught in slippers and pants.

Startled by the new position and the strange sensation of the cold wall against her backside, she protested, a vague thought to what the position would cost him breaking through her passionate haze. "Jon, you really don't have to-"

"Well worth it," he looked up, lips curling into a small smile, "Unless you want me to stop…?"

There was an extended pause, only to be broken by a sudden moan as he ducked his head and licked a long stripe along her sex, tongue just barely delving deep enough to graze her clit. Her fingers pulled at dark hair and she fiercely shook her head, "Gods no."

"Thought so."

There was something about the intimacy of having a lover that knew you- knew your body, knew what you liked, knew just how to please you. And Jon knew her so well, knew just how to make her body sing. There was comfort in his familiarity, pleasure in his knowledge, and gods help her, she loved this man.

Somewhere between him bringing her to the brink, making her body feel things it hadn't known in what felt like an eternity, they finally found themselves in her bed, struggling to free themselves of bothersome clothing.

There was desperation in the way their hands tore at their clothes, a fierce hunger to their kisses, and together they melted into the heat of it all. Sansa's mouth fixed over his and Jon buried his face in her hair as he responded, his lips parting obligingly at the insistent press of her tongue.

He groaned low in his throat as her hand slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs, wrapping around his arousal. Jon bucked against her hand, arching up to shuck the underwear off, finally naked skin to naked skin as he lay back over her.

His knee nudged between her legs, her thighs parting to cradle him against the center of her body. He loomed over her, his eyes darkened with ardor, but hesitated. Sansa laid a hand to his cheek, guiding his face to hers. She kissed him, teasingly catching his bottom lip between her teeth and eliciting a growl from him as he instinctively rocked into her in response.

"Jon," Catching his earlobe, she traced her tongue along the shell of his ear, "Want you. Please."

"Condom?"

"No need. I went back on the pill after you told me about Daeron." She remembered his devastated expression that day three months ago, when he revealed the life-changing truth he had discovered: he wasn't Daeron's biological father. The fierce love that burned in his eyes when he reaffirmed that Daeron was _his_, no matter who had fathered him, and the guilty relief that developed as they both realized the ties binding him to Margaery were beginning to unravel. Then, the hesitant, beginning tendrils of hope, that maybe...just maybe...

There was time to think of such things later, after they had made that 'maybe' into a reality. She brushed her fingers against his cheek as he stared at her incredulously, swallowing his questions with another deep kiss. "I promise we'll talk later, Jon, but right now I need you inside me."

His hands clutched at her hips, her legs locked around his waist and he sank home, her body welcoming him as if he had never left. Feeling him inside her after all this time was the most incredible thing she could have ever experienced (apart, perhaps, from the first time she held Bryn in her arms and realized what sort of miracle their love had created).

Her hands clutched at his head, fingers tangling in his hair as her back arched, her hips moving in rhythm with him, urging him on. "Harder, Jon. I won't break."

Jon obeyed with a growl of her name, taking her with hard, fast strokes that jolted the bed and had them moving against one another urgently. Her appreciative moans sounded in his ears, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck, murmuring incoherently against her skin, babbling words she could barely make out. "Beautiful," her nails scoured down his back, "love you," feeling her beginning to tighten around him, "so good."

She should have seen it coming, but somewhere between a mind still numb and buzzing from his earlier attentions and the euphoria of being one with him, she'd failed to notice; but when she did, her heart ached. Tension screamed through his body, the pace of him moving above her became unsteady and stunted. Sweat beaded on his forehead and pooled against the back she clung to, and when he lifted her head, she could see his concentrated expression twist into a grimace of discomfort.

She opened her mouth to question, plead, ask him to stop… She wasn't sure what she planned to say, but she never had the chance as his knee buckled and he fell into her. She held him to her as he collapsed, murmuring incomprehensibly against the crook of her neck, trembling as she stroked his back.

She felt him slip from her body, and she glanced down, wondering for a moment whether he had finished, but that thought was quickly dismissed when she realized his pain had overwhelmed his arousal. Guilt hit her, heavy and potent. He should have never been on his knees, let alone taking on the full exertion of their lovemaking. "Jon?"

He attempted to roll away but she held fast. She'd always liked the weight of him against her and besides, with the way he was avoiding looking straight at her she wasn't letting him go anywhere. "Jon, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice low and almost inaudible.

"For what?" she ran a hand through his hair, raising his chin to get a closer view of his expression. Taking in his flushed face and glassy eyes, remembering his pain, she was sure she should be the one apologizing. He looked away again and realization clicked into place.

He was ashamed of himself.

"Jon… Jon, look at me. Tell me what's wrong."

He quietly obeyed, unable to deny her even in his self-loathing. "I'm sorry. I thought… I don't know what I thought." He rolled his eyes and sneered with self-disdain, "I'm pathetic, I can't even please you."

"Jon…" she sighed softly, reaching over to cup his face, "It's not pathetic. You were hurt. Badly." She reached down to rest her hand against his right thigh. Beneath her fingers she could feel the raised ridges and deep grooves left by the injury that had ended his overseas deployment nearly before it had begun.

Shrapnel from an IED explosion had done extensive damage to his leg, evident in harsh, uneven furrows where he had lost entire chunks of muscle. The wounds had healed over with thick, ropy scar tissue that pulled and knotted painfully when the muscles in his thigh flexed as he walked. That he was even able to walk at all was a miracle, but that he could walk without any sort of aid was astounding. He did, however, limp when overly exerted, and experienced severe pain as a result of that exertion, much like now. "But you're alive and you made it home. That's what matters to me. Not your sexual prowess."

"Why, Sansa?" He scoffed derisively, though she knew the sound was directed at himself and not her. "I shouldn't have pushed you into this. I was only fooling myself into thinking I was still the man I was... The man you fell in love with."

His eyes were wet with unshed tears, dark and heavy with guilt. He squeezed them shut, as if bracing himself what he perceived to be an inevitable rejection. "Jon."

"Yes?"

"You're an idiot."

The statement was blunt, and utterly unexpected if his widened eyes and stupefied expression were anything to go by. She stroked his face, wondering at the twists in his logic considering their years of subtle devotion to one another. She hadn't realized he was still holding in so much insecurity regarding his injury.

"You listen to me, Jon Snow. I'm not expecting some Harlequin hero in my bed. Just you." She kissed him softly. "I love you, Jon. I don't need to be seduced, or impressed, or swept off my feet. I just want you."

A slow, uncertain smile swept across his lips and she found herself smiling in return. "Roll over for me, love. You won't sleep tonight if we don't work out those knots."

Jon obediently rolled onto his stomach and Sansa straddled his back, planting her knees on either side of his hips. She began the deep, intent massage she had learned a few years before from Jon's physical therapist. Gradually, she felt the tension begin to release from the body beneath her and with a deep groan of relief, he relaxed into the mattress.

Dropping a kiss between his shoulder-blades, she grabbed his shirt from the floor and slipped out briefly to fetch a glass of water and a couple of paracetamol. When she returned, he accepted the offerings with a murmur of gratitude, swallowing the pills and settling back with a sigh.

She turned out the light, snuggling against him. "Just hold me tonight, Jon. It's been so long since I've sleep in your arms, it's worth everything to feel that again."

He slipped his arms around and held her close, nuzzling her hair and breathing her in. And found she was right: just that small thing, to hold her again, skin to skin, was worth so much.

_Slaver's Bay, 2012_

"Are you honestly going to keep staring at that picture instead of taking in all this gorgeous scenery we're passing?"

Corporal Jon Snow looked up from said picture to meet the laughing eyes of Jon Umber, affectionately known as Smalljon to all who knew them. Jon smiled wryly at the thick sarcasm in the other man's voice, looking pointedly at the monotonous desert landscape around them. "Endless miles of sand are just so riveting," he commented dryly.

"Leave him be, Umber," Dacey Mormont quipped from Jon's left side, "Snow's lucky. He's got the faces of his beautiful wife and kids to distract him. All I've got is your ugly mug to look at."

"You wish you were this pretty, Mormont."

Dacey wrinkled her nose, making a show of eying the sweat stains on Smalljon's t-shirt (the extreme heat had driven most of the platoon to shed their BDU jackets) and the dirt smear that had appeared mysteriously upon his stubbled cheek. "I think the sun's getting to you, Umber. You're starting to get delusional."

Smalljon huffed and raised his hand in a rude gesture that caused both Jon and Dacey to break out into laughter. When Dacey turned to give him a grin, Jon bashfully returned it and fiddled with his patrol cap. A strong sense of camaraderie had built in the past nine weeks between the ten soldiers making up their squad, going far in developing Jon's sense of comfort. He had never been the type to make friends easily, but both Smalljon and Dacey had taken him under their wings, Dacey especially since Jon had such an extensive history with the Mormonts. The Mormonts were a military family- Dacey's mother, Maege, had been Jon's JROTC instructor and his mentor, Jeor, had been a Night's Watch Commander before he retired and became a professor.

He smiled as he glanced down at what had sparked the conversation, the photograph clutched between his fingers. Slightly wrinkled and worn given how frequently he pulled it out, the picture depicted Sansa seated on a bench on a beautiful spring day, their toddler sons seated on her lap and grinning up at the camera.

Guilt hit from time to time that of the pictures taped up by his bunk, Margaery was not featured in a single one, but the appearance of Sansa in his photos and the fact that most of his squad was Northern and somewhat associated with the Starks (Stark Steel had footholds and business ties that created an intricate network across the entirety of the North) had given the impression that Jon and Sansa were married and Daeron and Bryn were their twin sons.

Call him selfish, but Jon had done nothing to fix the misunderstanding. If his worst sin was pretending for six months that his deepest desire was reality, then let him be damned for it.

His deployment had resulted from attacks by Ghiscari terrorists in Essosian nations allied with Westeros. The Ghiscari, known for their intent to resurrect Old Ghis and its ideals of enslavement and racial/class supremacy, had claimed responsibility for hundreds of civilian deaths in Lhazar, Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor. Currently Jon and his unit (consisting of Westerosi soldiers as well as allies) were moving through non-hostile parts of Yunkai to make their way into Meereen and investigate militant activity.

Though he had once dreamed of little more than serving in combat like his Uncle Benjen, the order to deploy had been one of the hardest things he ever had to face. Fatherhood had changed everything.

His attention was torn from his thoughts by a sudden shouting from the jeep ahead of them in the convoy, in what Jon thought might be Lhazareen.

Sitting across from him and Dacey, next to Smalljon, Robin Flint craned his neck around. "What in the hells?"

Jon quickly pushed down his sunglasses, letting them catch on the cord around his neck, and grabbed the nearest pair of field binoculars. Focusing the lens, he could make out Owen Norrey and Donnel Locke arguing with Asa, the Lhazareen technician who had likely been the one to shout.

Jon adjusted his line of sight to the direction Asa was pointing. His lips pursed into a frown as the sun reflected off something in the distance.

As he turned his head to ask Dacey's opinion, the world around them exploded in a rain of fire and metal.

_Highgarden, 2012_

"God, he's growing so fast."

Sansa smiled at the comment coming from one Mya Stone, the other woman standing nearby at a rack of children's clothing, gazing at the child in Sansa's arms affectionately. Brynden squirmed a little in her embrace, gray eyes dancing as he gave his honorary aunt a wide grin.

Mya and Sansa shared a fond smile as Sansa pressed a kiss to the top of her son's head, placing him back in the shopping cart's child-seat. She fished a baggie of dry cereal from the diaper bag and handed it to him. "Isn't he? I swear, not only does he eat me out of my paycheck, he grows so fast I have to replace his clothes every few months."

Mya smiled, holding up a shirt for her inspection. "He's a growing boy. What can you do?"

"Nothing, I suppose." She thoughtfully watched Mya move through the aisle, perusing the boys' clothing with an inspecting eye. Not for the first time, she found herself glad Mya had taken the time to make the trip to see her and Brynden.

"I am so glad Mychel and I didn't get past talking about kids, now that I know how much of an cheating arsehole he is."

"Barra doesn't count?" Sansa questioned curiously, as she grabbed and considered a small green sweater. She held it up before Brynden and the boy wrinkled his nose, turning back to his cereal.

"Barra always counts, but I do sort of share her with Gendry." Sansa had never found out the full story behind how Mya had connected with her half-siblings, only that it had something to do with Jon Arryn and paternity suits, but Barra had been the last born before gossip magazines leaked information about Robert Baratheon's vasectomy. After the little girl's mother had died, Mya had filed for custody, the only one of the siblings old and stable enough to do so. "At least I did before he took off with your cousin."

"I told you, I had nothing to do with that! Arya did it all on her own. The only matchmaking I've ever done was Tommen and my other cousin, Robin." At Mya's questioning glance, she shrugged. "It's a long story. Ask Myrcella next time you talk to her." A conversation that would only be made possible now that Myrcella and Tommen were adults, as both Baratheons had defied all Cersei Lannister's efforts to keep them from having any sort of contact with what she referred to as her husband's "bastard get", the moment they had independence. "It was all her idea."

Mya gave her a considering look. "That doesn't bother you then?"

"What?"

"Same-sex relationships."

Sansa paused, remembering a drunken New Year's kiss and the sweetness of peach schnapps on Mya's tongue. "Not at all. Robin and I aren't that close, but Bran's sweet on a boy he's friends with. It's not a big deal."

"I thought Bran had a thing for an older girl. I remember you freaking out about it once."

"Er... Yeah. The boy and girl are brother and sister. It's... Complicated. Why do you ask anyway?"

Mya's attention was on a pair of overalls she had been fiddling with, but Sansa could tell the level of focus was overdone considering the overalls were a bright orange and would clash horribly with Brynden's auburn hair. Mya took a deep breath and then spilled out her revelation, "RandaandIaretogether."

Sansa blinked. "Huh?"

"Myranda and I are together." Mya gave her a sheepish smile. "That's why I wasn't too broken up about Mychel cheating. I already had feelings for Randa."

"Okay." She reached over and gave Mya's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Things are going well?"

Mya beamed and that was all the answer Sansa needed. She returned the smile, flipping through outfits on the rack until she came across a gray-and-blue plaid shirt. The thought of how the colors would bring out Brynden's eyes led to her imagining how much like his father he would look in the shirt and she felt the prickle of unwanted tears.

"Oh, Sansa. You're thinking of him, aren't you?"

Sansa nodded, smiling sadly as she wiped away the few tears that managed to escape. "I'm sorry. I know this trip was supposed to be about distractions."

"Don't worry about it, sweetling." Mya's expression was solemn now as their conversation took a serious turn. "How much longer until he's stable enough to come home?"

Sansa sighed, placing the plaid shirt in the cart. Brynden, who had been wonderfully patient for his age but was starting to wriggle around restlessly, held out his arms with a soft whine. Sansa obliged him. "It'll be a couple weeks still."

"So what are you going to do?"

Sansa smiled weakly, combing her fingers through Brynden's head of auburn curls. "Bryn and I are going back to King's Landing. We're going to be there for Jon's recovery."

"And Willas?"

_Willas..._

Willas Tyrell had been good to her. To Brynden as well. Their relationship hadn't crossed the line into the romantic until after Bryn was born, but it was because of Brynden that it had escalated as quickly as it had. Moving in together had originally been a way to have help juggling the day-to-day struggles of handling a newborn. Jon had tried his best, but Daeron was barely five months older than Bryn, and Jon had been his eldest son's primary caregiver from the start. Will was a kind man, he treated her well, he was gentle and patient with Bryn. She grew to love him, even if she wasn't _in_ love. A year and a half passed peacefully and contently, until Willas' graduation from veterinary school coincided with Jon's deployment.

Willas' goal had always been keep a stable on family property in Highgarden. Sansa and Brynden living with him there was meant to be a trial-run, a move that made more sense than not with Jon in Essos and Daeron staying with his Tyrell grandparents.

In her heart of hearts, Sansa knew things between her and Willas weren't meant to last. She and Brynden were never going to stay in Highgarden permanently, not with Jon in King's Landing. Will was good with Bryn, but he wasn't his father. Jon's presence in their son's life had been too constant for that. From the time Bryn was born, Jon had set aside time to visit at least three times a week, without fail, until his deployment. Sansa could never take that consistency away, not from father, son or even herself. She had lived without Jon before. She wasn't eager to repeat the experience.

Mya sighed, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. "You've made up your mind already, haven't you?"

"I have. I don't think there was really any other choice to make."

_King's Landing, 2014_

He was awakened the next morning by the sensation of silken hair brushing against his chest. Groggily, he cracked open one eye to watch the auburn head working its way down his chest, the soft lips trailing over his skin finally registering with him as he let out a strangled groan.

"… Sansa…?"

"Good morning," she glanced up at him briefly, caressing her fingers along his ribs as she nibbled at his shoulder.

"Morning… Oh!"

She smiled with satisfaction as she pulled down the sheet, running questing fingers down his sides and hips, finding their way to his thighs. She stopped, watching him inquiringly and he blinked, staring back at her in confusion.

She leaned over him, her hair falling like a curtain around him as she sought his lips, kissing him softly. "If I took it slow… Do you think you would be okay?"

His brow furrowed with question. "I suppose…?"

"Good. I was thinking we could take it nice and slow." She touched her lips to his again, teasingly brushing against his with every word they formed. "First, I want you in my mouth. Then, I'm going to ride you, slow and easy, until we can't feel anything but each other. Is that alright?"

"Oh, gods, yes."


	14. Fourteen: Lover's Knot

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
****By Myriddin**

**Chapter Fourteen: Lover's Knot**

_King's Landing, 2014_

When she awoke to the feeling of a body beside her later that morning, Sansa froze. Her breath caught and she bit hard at her lip, praying fervently that the memories of the night before weren't just another fantasy contrived by her longing mind.

Hesitantly, she rolled over to face him, gazing up at the handsome face of her lover, slack and peaceful, and listened to the slow rhythm of his relaxed breath. Wanting reassurance of his presence, she scooted closer to him, reaching out to rest her hand against his chest. She felt warm, smooth skin and a strong heartbeat beneath her fingers, he was wonderfully, palpably real.

The sheets had fallen to his waist as he shifted around in his sleep, offering a clear view of the body that had loved her so thoroughly in the preceding hours. She felt a flush of heat at the memories and bit her lip.

"Looking at me like that is unfair. I don't think I could go again."

She laughed softly as his eyes languidly opened and she could see the amusement dancing in them.

A dark imprint caught her attention and she moved her hand to the small of his back, encouraging him to shift to his side. She studied the tattoo on the back of his right shoulder, a solid black raven holding a quill between its beak, set against the open pages of an aged book.

It contrasted beautifully with the howling white direwolf on his left bicep, a gift from Robb for his eighteenth nameday, but that was a mark she was familiar with. She even knew the two smaller wolf-heads, added later and flanking the original, meant to represent his sons. She knew nothing of this new one. It gave her a vague sense of betrayal, knowing something on his body had changed when she hadn't been there to witness it. "When did you get this?"

"Mmm...maybe a year ago?"

"Why didn't you say something?"

"It was private, I guess. You're the first to see it." He paused, "I got it after they released Sword."

Understanding set in. After being discharged from the army, Jon had been left to rehabilitate and recover. He underwent therapy, both physical and psychological, for the trauma he had endured. Having received his doctorate just before his deployment, most had expected him to start looking for a teaching position at one of the city's twelve universities after his doctors had signed off. But Sansa had seen the lingering ghosts in his eyes, and wasn't surprised when instead he chose to stay home to research, write and raise Daeron. Eventually, he managed to make the first landmark of his career by reworking his dissertation on the ancient Night's Watch into a published work, Sword In The Darkness.

It was the publication of Sword that finally prompted Jon to take up the university job he presently held.

Sansa nodded thoughtfully, stroking her fingers over the inked skin, tracing the lines and edges that made up the tattoo's design. "This is maester inspired, isn't it?"

"It was Sam's idea. He pointed out that without maesters, we wouldn't have the knowledge we study."

"Mmm. How proper."

Jon smirked. "Proper's the last thing I want to be, sweetling, if only I could find the energy."

Sansa glanced at him coyly through her lashes, her hand slowly skimming down his body to curl her fingers around his sex. "Our son won't be awake for a couple of hours. Are you certain you can't find the energy?"

He began to stir under her touch and he groaned throatily. "Gods, you're going to be the death of me."

"But what a way to go, my love."

_xx_

_Winterfell, 2007_

It had been a pleasantly sunny afternoon and the young couple had enjoyed a walk out in the wolfwood, only for the heavens to open up and unleash a downpour of cold rain onto them two hours later. They raced toward Jon's house, laughing as they came together in a series of light kisses, slowly stripping away wet clothing as they went.

"Ugh," left in nothing more than her underwear, Sansa pulled back, running a hand through her matted hair. "Is it alright if I grab a shower?" She gave him a teasing smile. "You wanna join?"

"Mmm." He leaned in to kiss her sweetly, lingering for a moment just to savor the feel of her lips against his, "I would, but Arya's due to be back in a couple hours. I go with you…we'll never get out of there."

She reached out to skim her hand against his chest, naked with the loss of his t-shirt. His skin was cold and suddenly raised with goose bumps. He could attribute it to the chill, but he knew the truth- her touch did affect him so. "Probably not. Don't think I don't appreciate that stamina of yours, though." She grinned and let her hand drop. "If you change your mind, you know where I'll be."

Giving him a wink, she sauntered off toward the bathroom. Cocking his head, he watched swinging hips disappear around the corner and he smacked himself upside the head, groaning. "You're an idiot, Snow," he muttered to himself. "Either that, or gay."

Listening to the sound of the shower starting, the heat spiking in his belly erased any doubts about his sexuality. Seeking to distract himself, he gathered up their wet clothing and went to the laundry room to place them in the dryer. He then made a stop at the hallway linen closet before heading to his bedroom. He toweled off and redressed, tying back his damp hair before grabbing his laptop and returning to the living room to wait for his lover.

The room was quiet and comfortably warm compared to the drop in temperature the rain had brought, the only sound was the steady clicking of his fingers flying across his keyboard. His attention was focused entirely on the screen in front of him, only to be diverted when he heard the sound of the bathroom door opening and the soft padding of feet against the carpet as Sansa made her way to his room. She reappeared soon enough, looking comfortable in a set of Castle Black sweats. She offered him a small smile, hands at work as she rubbed at her hair with a towel.

"Hard at work, I see," she commented mildly as she wandered further into the room. His eyes returned to the screen and he made a noncommittal sound, eliciting an eye-roll from her as she ran her hands along the bar separating kitchen from common room, stopping on the ceramic jar in the corner.

Despite himself, he once more found his concentration drawn elsewhere as she casually approached the armchair he was reclined in, munching on something. She leaned down, brushed her lips against his temple and whispered, "Kiss?"

He turned his head. "Do you even have to ask?"

Just as he was leaning in, her hand approached and he suddenly found himself with his mouth full, the sweet taste of chocolate instantly melting against his tongue. Unable to muster enough indignation to glare at the distraction of the candy, he settled for a blank expression as he obediently chewed. Of course, those little chocolates Arya was obsessed with, named for the figurative kiss.

She gave him a wry smile, "Of course I don't. I know about your sweet tooth, no matter how you deny it."

He grumbled under his breath and she soothingly cupped a hand against his jaw, tilting his chin to better angle his mouth to hers. He responded instantly, seeking deeper contact and she delivered, languidly stroking his tongue with hers and earning a soft moan of approval from her lover.

When they parted, he sighed softly and she smiled. He returned the gesture, nuzzling against her and feathering kisses against her cheek.

"Affectionate today?"

"You inspire it." He pressed one last kiss to her neck, leaning back to turn his attention back to the neglected computer.

She perched herself on the arm of the chair, leaning over to better see what was distracting him. "Trying to prove your snarks and grumpkins existed now?"

"Funny," he commented dryly, "All myths and legends have some kernel of truth to them. All stories and songs have to start somewhere. It may not have been magic, but something happened with the Night's Watch, something significant enough to scare generations of Northerners."

There was something undeniably appealing about how passionate and animated Jon could become about a topic that interested him, his voice strong and confident, his eyes sparking with a lively light. She smiled to herself, resting her chin against his shoulder. "So you think studying with this Professor Mormont will help you find it?"

"Absolutely. The trick is to word my theories just right to get his attention."

She hummed thoughtfully, lightly scratching her nails against his neck as she stroked her fingers through his ponytail. "I don't see why they wouldn't. You're brilliant, Jon. It's about time you let the world see that."

With a small, pleased smile he tried to hide, he turned his head, catching her lips in another quick kiss before his hands returned to the keyboard. His companion stayed quiet, leaning against his shoulder to watch the story unfold.

_xx_

_King's Landing, 2014_

There was a shift from the body beside her, a hand reaching up to brush the hair out of her eyes, amused gray eyes meeting hers, "Hey, where did you go just now?"

Sansa smiled, propping herself up on an elbow to face her bedmate. "Nowhere really. Just lost in my head." She tapped her temple. "It's a little busy in here right now."

Jon chuckled, lightly skimming his fingers down her arm, "It can't be as crazy as mine."

"I agree. Your mind is a place mere mortals fear to tread."

He arched an eyebrow, "Should I be offended?"

She narrowed her eyes with a falsely haughty air. "Only if you mean to imply I'm some mere mortal."

He shook his head, and leaning forward, he skimmed his lips against her collarbone. She shivered at the contact, cupping the back of his head to draw his lips toward her own, meeting in a soft, chaste kiss. "Not at all," he breathed against her cheek, "You're my goddess, Sansa Stark. My goddess of winter."

"Blasphemous."

"Truthful," he countered, his eyes so achingly open and full of emotion she felt a lump rise in her throat. All she could think to do was to kiss him again, trying to convey every measure of feeling she held back with the caress of lips and tongue.

He pulled back a moment later with a content smile, "So I've been thinking."

"Should I be scared?"

"Depends. I'm thinking, our 'just friends' routine's officially been shot to hell."

"I have to agree." Lying back against the pillows, she released a soft laugh. "We just can't seem to help ourselves, can we?"

"Not particularly. That's how we got Brynden, after all."

She pursed her lips to fight back her smile. "You said your marriage was over. You really worked everything out?"

"I did. I meant it when I said Tyrion was thorough." That much Sansa knew, if only by his reputation alone. Tyrion Lannister's investigative team was almost as infamous than the law Tyrion himself practiced. Better yet, Tyrion was (very) openly, publicly estranged from his Lannister family, and had been rather gleeful to take on Jon's case. He strongly shared Jon's opinion that his niece, Myrcella, deserved much better than Aegon, and he and Jon had subsequently bonded.

"Thorough enough handle all the angles?"

"Hmm-mm. Margaery and Aegon both." He sighed. "I honestly think Margaery's just as tired as I am. We've lived together long enough that I'm starting to see through that front she puts up. Her trips to Dorne... They're not just for Tyrell Designs, she's seeing someone. Thing is, I think it's been the same someone."

Watching her face sour, Jon was quick to shake his head. "I know what you're thinking, lovely, but you and I both know it isn't in our characters to carry on an affair."

She conceded with a sigh of her own. "But you know someone will accuse us. Tonight notwithstanding."

"Thus the paper trail Tyrion recovered to implicate Margaery's. But I honestly don't think it will come to that. Margaery loves Daer in her own way, but I don't think she ever wanted to be a mother. The entire situation reeks of Mace Tyrell."

Sansa nodded, shifting closer to rest her head against his shoulder. They both had guessed the manipulations behind their complicated situations years ago. Things had become a little clearer after Jon had been injured in Yunkai and emergency surgery had become difficult when his uncommon blood type was discovered. Afterward, Jon was concerned whether either of his sons had inherited the rarity. They found Brynden had and began taking steps accordingly, but Daeron...

Relief that Daeron didn't share the same difficulty grew into suspicion when Jon read the test results himself. Basic biology was clear: Jon and Daeron's blood-types weren't genetically compatible to being father and son. The final nail in the coffin was when Tyrion uncovered how the original paternity test had been falsified. The test hadn't been fully forged, instead the results had been eschewed. A lab tech had been paid to simply be lazy, writing off a few matching genes as positive paternity. Daeron and Jon _did_ share DNA, just not enough. There were only a few candidates to suspect, and only one was the likely option. Sansa guessed whatever had been in Margaery's expression tonight when Jon hurled the accusation at her had cemented his belief. It had been Aegon all along.

Sansa winced at the thought, reaching down to lightly grasp his hand. "And Aegon?"

He scoffed at the name, but wrapped an arm around her and enlaced their fingers. "There are four things in life that Aegon truly cares about. His mother, himself and Arianne Martell."

She quirked an inquisitive brow. "Arianne?"

"Yes. If there's a woman in this world that Aegon loves more than himself, it's her. You're aware that the paternity of her daughters isn't public knowledge?"

"Right..." He watched as the wheels turned in her head and her eyes widened. "Aegon...? But... He must have been a teenager."

"Old enough, I suppose. But I suspect his tryst with Margaery is the last thing Aegon would want her finding out."

Her lips formed a small 'o' of realization and he nodded wearily. "If Arianne isn't enough of a soft spot, Aegon's arrogance will be his undoing. Knowing my brother, Daeron's existence is a point of pride for him. Proof he can father a son. He's not likely to have any interest in exposing the truth and risk damaging his reputation. Or his inheritance."

She tilted her face up to press a kiss to his jaw. "Let me guess. The legitimacy rule." Her tone was sardonic, just as unimpressed with the notion as Jon was. The legitimacy rule was an informal rule of inheritance for Targaryen men: produce a legitimate son before fathering any illegitimate ones, or risk being disinherited.

He heaved a heavy, tired sigh. "Tyrion calls this 'playing the game'. Gods, Sansa, when this is all over, I never want anything to do with this 'game' again."

She cupped his face, smoothing her thumbs over his furrowed forehead. "None of this is going to be easy. Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

He smiled softly, running his fingers through those auburn curls he loved so much. "I've always been yours, Sansa. It's about time the rest of the world figured that out."

xx

"He's not going to disappear the moment you take your eyes off him."

A pair of slender arms wrapped around his waist, accompanied by the press of a soft body against his back. He looked over his shoulder to give her a sheepish smile. "I know. I just…"

"I know," she repeated, smiling softly.

They stood together in the hallway, in front of the open doorway leading into Bryn's room. They both stared into the shadowed contours of the bedroom, watching the sleeping silhouette of their son. It both amused her and touched her heart that even after all the years Jon had known his son, he was still so constantly in awe of the life he had helped to create.

She turned her attention back to her lover, brushing a kiss against his nape. Jon gave a contented sigh and slipped his arms around her in return. She nestled into his embrace, resting her head against his bare chest. He rested his head atop of hers, "He asked for pancakes after I put him down last night."

"Of course he did," She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, "You gave right in, didn't you?"

"Guilty."

"It's nearly ten," he said softly after a short silence. "Should we wake him?"

"Yeah, probably. I'll get him up and in a bath," She leaned up on her tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss, then gave him a playful shove toward the kitchen, "You go and start on those pancakes you promised your son."

He grinned, "Yes, ma'am!" and gave her a salute before he sidled down the hall. Sansa watched him go, listening to the sound of his laughter, and smiled.

**It was a sound she could get used to hearing for the rest of her life. **


	15. Fifteen: Never Doubt I Love

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin

**Chapter Fifteen: Never Doubt I Love**

_King's Landing, 2014_

"Am I really doing the right thing?"

Sansa looked up from her sketchpad as the solemn voice broke through her concentration, turning her head to study her lover. Jon was seated at the window, staring down at the city below. "Daeron?"

"Yeah. Taking Margaery's son away from her. It should feel wrong."

"Do you think you're doing the right thing?"

"Yes… yes, I do. I'm the only parent he's really known. He needs me." His frown deepened. "He always has. It's funny, even way before I looked at those blood tests, I think I always had some kind of doubt in the back of my mind. I just didn't want to acknowledge it- I loved him too much." He shook his head with a sigh. "Do you remember when you told me he had my nose?" Sansa winced even as she nodded. "I think I clung to that, proof that no one could ever take him away from me. It never even occurred to me that what I saw in my son's face was the only thing Rhaegar ever really gave me."

The Targaryens were well-known for their classical, aristocratic features, including the aquiline nose both of Rhaegar's sons had inherited. It wasn't a characteristic that particularly stood out on Jon's long Stark face, but it was there if one looked closely enough.

Jon sighed, leaning back against the window-seat. "I used to wonder if my mother would to do the same thing, search my face for something of Rhaegar. I grew up to Benjen telling me how much I looked like her every time he visited. He was always smiling when he said it. Why wouldn't I assume that if it made him happy, it must be good? I was my mother's son, no trace of that lying bastard to be found. I was so proud... now I realize she likely didn't care. She loved me and she would have kept on loving me no matter what I looked like."

"Isn't that how you feel about Daeron?"

"It is."

He smiled softly and she returned the gesture. "There you go then."

Watching him fall into a thoughtful silence, Sansa turned back to her sketches, allowing him time to ruminate. For a time, they fell back into a comfortable quiet, only broken by the scratching of pen against paper. It wasn't long before his solemn voice filled the room once more and Sansa listened, diligently but quietly, letting him work through his thoughts.

"When I was eight, I got up one night to get a glass of water and stumbled across Rhaegar making his way through a bottle of scotch. It's strange to think about now, but I remember how nervous I was when he saw me and waved me into the room. I was excited too. He didn't do that a lot when I was growing up- notice me, I mean. There was this long moment where he just looked at me and then he started talking."

He laughed sardonically, not a trace of good humor to be found in the sound. "He spilled all the deep, dark, sordid secrets surrounding my conception. He got my mother pregnant on purpose, Sansa. He was unhappy with his life and his marriage, but he was too much the dutiful son to walk away. Even at that age, he knew Rhaenys favored her mother in more than looks and Targaryen tradition would never allow him to be too close to Aegon- he wouldn't dare get caught 'coddling the heir'.

He wanted a place to run to, a safe haven of sorts where he could live a second life away from the pressures of his first. You can imagine what he had planned. To make my mother into a kept woman, to father a bastard with her solely to have that full, undivided adoration only a child can give." He scoffed. "He underestimated my mother, though."

"Jon, I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it." He gave her a wan smile. "I've... I've never told that to anyone. I feel like it was this weight on my chest, choking me even more the worse this paternity situation got, but it feels better to have gotten it out."

"I honored you chose me." She paused for a moment, pinning him with a knowing stare. "You're worrying about Aegon again. I can tell. You're superimposing Rhaegar's actions onto him, even though everything's still hypothetical. Listen to me. You're Daeron's father in every way that matters. That's all anyone can ask for- and all anyone will see."

"You really think so?" His voice was close now and she realized he had crossed the room to stand beside her.

"I know so."

"Thank you." He nuzzled against her and she felt his smile, more prominent as he softly pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, his hands rubbing her shoulders- a clear repeat of the first time three nights ago.

She leaned back, meeting his eyes as his lips trailed lower, tongue swathing lasciviously against her pulse. She tilted her head encouragingly as the hands stroking her shoulders moved slowly down, the fingers skimming along her arms sending a sensual shiver down her spine, his hands locking with hers.

Sansa came to him willingly as he drew her to her feet and slowly guided her to face him, his gaze dark with unmistakable intensity as he focused on her lips, unconsciously wetting his own as they slowly gravitated toward one another. They leaned close, so achingly close that their foreheads met, hearing his heartbeat pick up as her fingers brushed ever so slightly against the palms of his hands, twining through his.

"Jon," every brush of warm breath against his lips with every word she spoke was torture. "Jon…"

"Hmm?"

She drew back, the heat sparking between them far too palpable to be safe, and he found he had to bite back a groan as she moved from him. Thick lashes feathered against her skin as her eyes closed, and he lightly skimmed his knuckles against her cheek as she sharply exhaled, putting more definite space between them.

"It's… it's getting late. Should I make up the couch?"

He groaned at the suggestion, leaning back against the chair she had vacated and glancing at her with a pained expression. "I think it's best I head back to the townhouse."

She frowned, some part of her wanting so desperately to protest, to hold on to the familiarity of him, despite knowing how dangerously close they were edging that line again. She had insisted they were not to be intimate again until his divorce was final. What she hadn't counted on was finding it so hard to keep her resolve. "Jon, you've stayed in this apartment dozens of times before and we've managed to restrain ourselves. What makes tonight different?"

"Because…" and his voice was low, hoarse, "I'm feeling anything but restraint. And I'm trying to respect your wishes, even if I think it's ludicrous."

"Jon..." The words caught in her throat. How could she explain her doubts and fears, when she herself wasn't even sure of their source?

He was close again, edging so much closer and his hands were shaking slightly as they came up to frame her face. She licked her lips as he drew closer, then sucked in a disappointed breath when he pressed his lips to her forehead. "Good night, Sansa."

Her eyes closed painfully and didn't open again until she heard the door closing behind him.

xxx

"Daery!"

"Laeny, Senya!"

Exclamations rang through the air as Daeron, Visenya and Elaena caught sight of each other from across the park, the cousins eagerly running to get to one another. Hugs, laughter and excited chatter ensued as Jon leisurely strolled up to the bench Myrcella was sitting on, giving her a warm smile as he seated himself beside her. "Hey, Cella."

"Hey, yourself." She leaned over to hug him, careful not to jostle the napping toddler in her lap. "Tom called me. He and Robin are on their way."

"Good to know." He reached over to stroke his hand through Daella's golden curls. The little girl shifted at the contact, nuzzling against his hand. Jon smiled.

The sound of running feet announced the return of the other children, his older nieces diving into his arms as he bent down to meet them. "Uncle Jon!"

Little arms slipped around his neck and he cuddled them close. There was a muffled giggle against his neck and Elaena squirmed in his arm. "Uncle Jon! You're squeezing me."

"Sorry, sweetheart." Sheepishly, he loosened his hold on the girls, allowing Elaena to draw back enough to plant a quick kiss on his cheek and Visenya to look him squarely in the eye. A small hand brushed against his face, tracing along his nose and lips, the rough stubble against his cheek. He watched her as she studied him, watched her mouth twisting into a frown the longer she looked at him. "You look tired, Uncle Jon."

He smiled weakly, and as Elaena squirmed loose to rejoin Daeron, he swept Visenya upward onto his shoulders, causing her to squeal with laughter as his hands locked around her legs and her hands grasped at his hair to keep her balance, though they both knew that he would never let her fall. He gazed up at her, saw her upside-down, his niece's pretty little face marred with worry. Worry for him.

"I'm alright, sweetheart. You don't have to worry about me."

She tilted her head curiously, releasing her stranglehold on his hair to clutch one hand into the collar of his shirt, using the other to smooth back stray bangs against his forehead. "Are you sure?"

Jon reached up, extending his pinky finger. "I'm sure. I pinky-swear I'm sure."

Visenya grinned, hooking her pinky through his. "Alright."

As he let her down, he caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and he turned his head toward it, eyes narrowing. His shout of, "Daeron Aemon!" nearly overlapped with Myrcella's, "Elaena!"

The children in question turned around obediently, but were clearly displeased with the reprimand. "Daddy!" Daeron whined.

Jon snagged the collar of his son's red t-shirt and nudged him back toward the bench.

"Don't you 'Daddy' me. I told you not to go passed the playground."

A masculine chuckle could be heard from behind them, its source soon appearing in the form of a smiling Tommen Baratheon. His arm was around Robin Arryn's shoulders, who waved a hand in greeting.

"I think it's my fault, Jon," Tommen stated apologetically, "Looks like Laeny saw me coming. Daeron must have followed."

"Unca' Tommy!" Elaena shot herself into her uncle's arms and Tommen caught her easily, swinging her around and earning giggles of delight from the girl. "Hey there, cutie!"

Myrcella joined them with her remaining daughters and greeted her brother. "The girls' things are in the car, Tom. I can go get them-"

All three men moved to intercept her as she took out her keys. Tommen plucked them from her hand and Robin lifted a drowsy Daella into his arms. Myrcella rolled her eyes. "I'm pregnant, boys, not an invalid."

Tommen pointedly looked at the distended bump visible beneath her dress. "Double the baby, double the protective instinct, sis."

Jon blinked owlishly as Myrcella rolled her eyes once more. "Double?"

"Oh." Myrcella glared at her brother and smacked his arm. When Tommen clutched his wounded limb and pouted, Robin kissed his cheek and patted his shoulder. "I was going to tell you tonight, Jon. I'm having twins. Both boys."

"Congratulations." He pecked her cheek and idly thought of how much gloating Aegon must be indulging in. He shook his head, pushing away thoughts of his brother. He placed a hand against Daeron's shoulder, earning a grin from _his_ boy and he smiled back.

"Are you two sure you don't mind taking Daeron with the girls?" Jon asked concernedly.

"Of course not," Robin replied easily, occupied by Daella curiously toying with the pendant around his neck. It reminded Jon of how Daeron and Bryn used to play with his dog tags when they were younger. He also marveled at the calm contentment Robin carried about him, a far-cry from the spoiled and self-centered boy Robb had once described to him. Sansa had been far from wrong when she thought Tommen would be good for her cousin. "We're plenty used to the girls. Besides, it never hurts to have the practice."

"Practice?" Myrcella narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Tommen..."

Tommen gave her a sheepish smile, slipping his arm around his partner. "We may be looking into the adoption process."

The congratulations began again in earnest.

xxx

"You can't keep ignoring this, Jon."

Jon scowled in Myrcella's direction as he dropped dry pasta into the pot of bowling water in front of him. "I'm not ignoring it."

"Of course not," Myrcella returned, her voice thick with sarcasm. "And the fact that you haven't talked to the woman you love in over a week has nothing to do with it."

"Myrcella..."

"Jon."

Placing her hands on her hips, she squared off against him, stepping into his path as he made his way toward the refrigerator. Glaring, he sidestepped around her and made his way to the appliance, opening up the door to pull out several vegetables: a cucumber, tomato, carrots and a fresh head of lettuce. Kicking the door shut with his foot, he set them down on the counter and grabbed a cutting board from the shelf above his head.

"Jon…" Myrcella's face softened as she sighed. "Why are you being so stubborn?"

"I'm not."

"Right," she countered dryly.

"Your sarcasm doesn't help matters."

Jon tended to his simmering sauce and stirred the boiling pasta before brandishing a large cutlery knife. The kitchen filled with the steady rhythm of the knife chopping against the cutting board as he sliced through the lettuce, then the tomatoes as the silence stretched out before them.

Myrcella came up behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder. The touch seemed to cut through his forced indifference, as the sound of his chopping stopped abruptly and he exhaled harshly.

"Jon, you know she's probably just scared, right?"

He took a harsh, shuddering breath that caused his body to tremble slightly and Myrcella couldn't help herself, she opened her arms to him. He stared at her uncertainly for a few moments before hesitantly shuffling forward to accept the hug.

Jon was so reserved in nature Myrcella had never expected their friendship to be particularly tactile. The short, cursory embraces they shared occasionally were mostly one-sided. In truth, the only people she had known him to welcome touch from were his children- and likely Sansa in private. She had witnessed too many aborted gestures over the years, watching them reach for each other instinctively but always freezing just short of contact when her presence was remembered. That was likely to change if she could get the big aurouchs disguised as her brother-in-law to stop being so stubborn.

The hug didn't last long, his body language still speaking of a subtle awkwardness, but the way he relaxed ever so slightly was encouraging. "I know," he murmured in admittance, as they separated, "But gods, it hurts, Cella. I'm putting everything on the line, and she can't trust me enough to talk to me."

Myrcella sighed, reaching up to cup his chin in a gesture she'd often used with her daughters, beckoning him to look at her. He did and his eyes were dark, shadowed with some unnamed burden she wished she could help, but this was something he and Sansa would have to work out themselves. _With a little encouragement_, she thought wryly as she let her hand fall away.

"Have you thought about the fact that she's putting just as much at risk?"

He blinked. "No, I hadn't thought of that," he replied softly. They shared a look of understanding and then by mutual agreement, moved back to tend to their dinner. Myrcella finished cutting the vegetables for the salad as Jon strained the pasta and turned off the heat beneath the sauce.

The oven beeped and when Jon opened the door, the smell of fresh garlic bread filled the kitchen. "So I know you didn't want to meet to just talk about my problems. What's on your mind?"

Myrcella set aside the salad she had finished tossing and turned to face him. "I'm not really sure how you start something like this, so I'm just going to come out and say it. I'm leaving Aegon."

The sound of the bread pan clattering against the floor told her she could have afforded to be a little more tactful.

xxx

That afternoon, the fragile veil of spring warmth was ripped away by a sudden thunderstorm with rain pounding down to the earth in heavy, unyielding torrents. He could hear it echoing off the tin roofing above his head, could see the hazy mist of the perspiration fogging up his bedroom window.

He threw his bag to the floor, not caring about its destination, and sighing softly as he set aside his wallet and cell phone, taking off his watch. He loosened the buttons on his shirt and for a long drawn-out moment- all he could hear was the sound of the rain, and all he could feel was the slight shock of the cold air against his naked skin as he shed the garment, intent on a shower.

Though he had not heard anyone approach, somehow the light touch of a hand against his side did nothing to startle him. He sighed, neither rejecting nor welcoming the touch. "Sansa, what are you doing here?"

Slender fingers worked their way down his side, stroking back and forth along the long strip of smooth skin just below his ribcage. "You look exhausted, Jon. When's the last time you had a decent night's sleep?"

He snorted. "Forgive me if I have some things on my mind." He stiffened beneath caresses meant to soothe him and moved out of her reach. "Why are you here?" he repeated vehemently. "I don't hear from you, you don't return my calls for a week, and then you just show up at here? How did you get in, anyway?"

She winced, wrapping her arms around her middle as if to shield herself. Jon frowned, hurt spiking in him at the implication that she felt she needed to protect herself from him. "I still have the key you gave me." When she had moved herself and Brynden back to King's Landing after Jon's injury, they had stayed in the townhouse Jon had inherited after Aemon's death. The same townhouse they had stayed in during that infamous summer and the one Jon was living in now. "I'm scared, Jon."

"Scared? What is there to be scared of?"

She straightened at his incredulous tone, forcing herself to look him in the eye. "You're an honorable man, Jon, and I love that about you. But it's been your honor that's separated us more than once."

"Don't you trust me?"

"I trust your love. It's your conscience I don't trust."

Jon groaned, his eyes closing painfully. "Dammit." Reopening his eyes, he determinedly stood before her, bringing them face to face as he placed his hands against her shoulders, "Then talk to me. Tell me what you need in order to feel safe about this."

She took a deep breath. "I love you, Jon. That hasn't changed. But I can't fully be with you again until you have those divorce and custody papers in your hands. Can you understand that?"

He breathed out with relief and nodded pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Of course I can. If that's what you need, lovely girl, that's what we'll do."

The endearment drew a smile from her. "So there is really no going back now."

"I know."

She pressed a kiss to his throat, drawing back enough to look him in the eye. "Regrets?"

"No. Not this. Not us."

"Okay then. No regrets."

"No regrets."


	16. Sixteen: Starts With Goodbye

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin

**Chapter Sixteen**_**: Starts With Goodbye**_

_King's Landing, 2014_

"What do you want from me, Jon?"

Jon Snow's expression was indecipherable, his eyes hard and unyielding as he stared down his wife who was seated across from him. Before him were the papers spread across the table- their divorce papers.

"No more than what I've already asked for."

"You want to take my son."

"No. I want _my_ son. You'll just be giving me the child you gave birth to."

They found themselves at a standstill, staring each other down. She looked away from him. Jon realized he was seeing vulnerability in his wife for the first time since they had met. "She loves him, doesn't she? Sansa."

"She does. She loved him when she thought he was a part of me and she kept loving him after. Just like I did."

"... okay."

"Okay?" he questioned dubiously.

"You're right. Once upon a time, the most important thing was pleasing my father, but then the Targaryen heir he wanted became a real baby with Loras' eyes and Garlan's smile and Will's cleverness." She sighed, tiredly rubbing her fingers against her temples, "He's my son, Jon, but I've never been a mother to him. You and Sansa can give him what he needs. I know that."

"Alright. " He reached over with his pen and quietly added his signature to the papers, "Margaery, about Aegon…"

"I'll talk to him. It's the most I can promise."

"That's enough. Okay, so you don't have any formal visitation, but you are allowed to write and call. Once he turns ten, Daeron can have more of a say about what contact you have." He slid the paper across the table, watching as she signed them without hesitation. "I'll make arrangements for you to get half the yearly allowance Rhaegar sends for Daeron."

Margaery shook her head, visibly surprising him. "No. I don't want it. That family is foul, Jon, and I should have figured it out sooner." She smiled softly. "You're one of the only good things that Rhaegar Targaryen ever gave the world. No matter what happens, you need to keep our boy out of their reach. By any means necessary."

"By any means necessary," he agreed. The look in his eyes was hard and resolute in a way that told her he was ready to do just that, without question. She nodded in satisfaction as he placed papers and folders back into his briefcase and stood.

"You'll make sure he can still have visits with my brothers? I know he and the Appleblossoms get along well."

He paused in the process of sliding on his coat. "Of course." His mouth twitched into a small smile at the nickname for Garlan's children with his Fossoway wife. "Garlan's still helping to run the vineyards at the Arbor, right? And Willas makes regular trips to Oldtown. Both are places I can minimize chances of running into Mace."

Margaery winced at the mention of her father, but the sour look of agreement on her face told Jon she wasn't any happier with him than Jon was. "I don't see why that wouldn't work." She hesitated, "Jon…"

"Hmm?"

"Don't feel guilty."

His head shot up, startled. "About what?"

"Loving her. Being with her."

He looked at her bemusedly. "How did you know?"

"About the two of you? It's as plain as day."

"No." He hadn't been surprised in the least that she knew he had renewed his relationship with Sansa. "About what I'm feeling."

"It's in your character." She smiled softly. "It's just part of who you are, Jon. Even I know you well enough to realize that."

"Take your own advice then." He chuckled at her look of surprise. "Margaery, we lived together for years. I know you didn't just open another branch of Tyrell Designs because of regional climate."

She huffed, but didn't bother to deny it. It was entirely true that the light, breathable fabrics Margaery and Loras used for their clothes fit as well in the Dornish climate they did in the Reach, but it wasn't Margaery's only motivation to move into Dorne, and they both knew it.

Her expression softened and she reached out to briefly rest her hand over his. "Be happy, Jon."

He nodded, fixing the collar to his jacket and grabbing his briefcase before turning to leave. "You too, Margaery."

It only took a few moments for the front door to click shut behind him and Margaery knew it was the last time he would ever set foot in the home they had shared together for nearly five years. She breathed out a heavy sigh, dropping her face into her hands.

A pair of slender, feminine arms wrapped around her shoulders, soft lips brushing a reassuring kiss against her shoulder. "Are you going to take his advice, and stop feeling guilty?"

"For loving you? Yes. For everything else I'm guilty of? I reserve the right to feel ashamed."

There was a throaty chuckle in her ear and another kiss pressed to her cheek. "I believe that's called taking responsibility, my love."

"Someone had to before it was too late. It's just too bad my father can't understand that." Her lips twitched into a smile. "I wish I could have been there to see Will blast the old man before he packed his things and marched out the door."

"Mmm, you Tyrells and your passions. Reminds so much of my kinsmen."

Margaery tilted back her head, nosing against falls of raven hair. "Rhaenys, can we go home now? To Starfall?"

Rhaenys Targaryen leaned down to press her lips against her lover's, savoring the languid kiss. "We can leave the minute you feel you're ready. Mother and Arthur will be delighted to have you there again."

"May we bring Willas along? He mostly ranted in his last phone call, but I believe he said something about going to Dorne and asking your cousin a long-overdue question."

There was another of those delightfully low-pitched chortles. "Of course. Oh, Tyene will be delighted. After she's hit him over the head a few times for taking so damn long."

Margaery hummed softly, running a finger down a smooth olive cheek. "Speaking of family, what about you? Are you feeling guilt?"

Rhaenys' lovely face grew serious as she deliberated and she slowly shook her head. "No, not for this. There are far worse sins I've committed against my little brother."

"What was worse?"

"Not letting myself love him."

xx

"So…"

Jon Snow glanced up at his sister-in-law over the rim of his coffee cup, quirking a questioning eyebrow. "So…" he prompted.

She smirked. "So… I'm sure you have questions."

Though it was more a statement than a question, he nodded. "That was quite the bomb you dropped on me."

"I know. I'm sorry. Doubly sorry I didn't tell we were living apart. Honestly, Aegon spent so little time here before that it barely made a difference when he moved out."

"When did that happen?"

Her lips curled into a humorless smile. "As soon as he found out I was having a boy."

He made a sound of disgust, brow furrowing with a sudden thought. "I can understand living apart, but do you really think Aegon will let you divorce him if it means taking his sons away?"

A strange expression crossed her face, a morbid mix of amusement chased by a hint of guilt, as she turned to look down at the cityscape below them. "He will once he finds out the twins aren't his."

Jon didn't look entirely surprised. Myrcella stayed quiet as she watched the wheels in his head begin to turn. She'd always known Jon to be an intelligent man- it wouldn't take long.

"That last trip to Dorne... did you and Trystane finally move your friendship passed flirtation?" Jon had known how Myrcella felt about the youngest Martell for quite a while. Deep conversations over coffee had been a steady characteristic of their friendship, and one particular talk had been Myrcella returning his admitting to still loving Sansa with a confession that she had developed feelings for her husband's cousin.

Myrcella nodded.

He pursed his lips. "But isn't he dating Ned Dayne... Arya said she met him that way..." She nodded again and his eyes widened with realization. "Myrcella Cerelle Baratheon, you _did not_!"

"I did."

She looked so unbelievably smug Jon couldn't help but bark out a laugh. "Gods, Cella! I meant it when I said you deserved better than Aegon, but a ménage à trois with Dorne's most eligible bachelors wasn't quite what I was expecting. Tyrion would be proud."

"He already implied as much." Jon bit his cheek when he saw her blush. "He's helping me with the divorce and custody paperwork. He couldn't stop laughing when I mentioned just _why_ paternity was a little complicated..."

Unable to hold back any longer, Jon howled.

"Kind of like that," she remarked dryly.

Jon wiped away his tears of mirth. "I'm sorry." His smile softened from hilarity to something more caring. "So I know how much you care about Trystane, but I'm less clear about the Dayne."

Myrcella looked thoughtful, sipping from her tea as she took her time answering. "Trys has been bringing Ned around to family gatherings nearly as long as I've been married to Aegon. All those years Aegon took me along with him to Dorne to keep up appearances... while he was off doing only the Seven knows what with Arianne, I was falling in love with two of the most amazing men I've ever met." She shot him an apologetic look. "I didn't tell you about Ned because how I felt about Trys was enough of mess on it's own. But what it comes down to, Jon, is that Ned and Trys give me and the girls more affection and attention in a few weeks than Aegon has managed in _seven years_. "

Jon could recognize the look on her face, soft and open, besotted. He grinned. "And they feel the same?"

"They do. Even said it didn't really matter who the twins belong to biologically, they'll be loved and taken care of all the same."

Jon nodded, draining his coffee cup with a wistful sigh. "So when will we be losing you to Dorne?"

"Likely as soon as Tyrion can draw up custody papers Aegon will agree to. Who's left to try and stop me after the circus my family has become lately? Everyone's either too busy running for the hills or cleaning up the mess."

"What about Tywin?"

She shook her head. "With the S.S. Lannister-Baratheon sinking as fast as it is?" She began ticking off points on her fingers as she spoke. "I mean, with Joff in prison, my mother's 'dealings' with Kettleback brothers making headlines, my father on the run for tax evasion, and Uncle Stannis being the only thing keeping Baratheon Industries from spiraling out of control? Granddad's doing all he can to cut ties and safeguard his assets. Honestly, since his Targaryen alliance won't be undone, he isn't likely to give me a second thought."

Jon frowned at her resigning tone, reaching out with the intention to squeeze her hand.

"You little monster! Get back here!"

Myrcella and Jon jumped at the sudden scream, watching with surprise as two blurs of little girl flew out onto the balcony. Jon quickly shot to his feet, catching Elaena's small and squirming weight as she crashed into a wall.

Visenya followed quickly at her heels, glowering fiercely at her little sister. "You annoying little brat! Let me at her, Uncle Jon!"

"Uncle Jon! Tell Senya to leave me alone!"

"Looks like naptime's over," Jon commented wryly as he bent down and relieved himself of his burden, restraining the indignant girl by a firm hand on her shoulder. Myrcella turned a stern gaze on her eldest. "Visenya, why were you chasing your sister?"

The seven-year-old huffed and folded her arms, and her resemblance to her father in that moment was almost startling. Despite that she was Aegon's near-mirror image aside from her emerald eyes, she tended to display Myrcella's calmer nature. Apparently, the antics of younger siblings challenged the most even of tempers.

Five-year-old Elaena, from her place wrapped around Jon's leg, narrowed her violet eyes at her older sister. Her heart-shaped face and bouncing golden curls tended to disguise her mischievous nature. As evidenced by Visenya's next accusation, "She pulled my braids!"

"Elaena Alysanne Targaryen, how many times have I told you to leave your sister's hair alone?"

Elaena winced at the sound of her mother's reprimand, looking up at the adults as innocently as she could. "If she didn't wear those stupid things, I wouldn't have to pull them."

Visenya whirled on the younger girl and glowered. "Don't make fun of my braids. Uncle Jon thinks they're pretty! He said so!"

"What's all this noise?" For the second time in ten minutes, an unexpected voice rang through the air and Jon's expression immediately hardened as he took in the sight of his half-brother standing in the doorway.

"Daddy!" Elaena flew into her father's arms and in a rare form of paternal affection, Aegon allowed the hug. Absent from his expression was the smile, the soft look, Jon would have wanted to see and when his violet eyes landed on his firstborn. Visenya squirmed uncomfortably under her father's scrutiny. She quietly apologized to her mother and sister, excused herself, and disappeared back into the house.

Jon frowned at the interaction, blankly watching Aegon as he loosened his daughter's arms from around his neck and set her on her feet. "Go back inside with your mother, Elaena. I need to talk to your uncle." He shot his wife a glare, eyes briefly dropping to her stomach with a grimace. Myrcella glowered at him, ushering her daughter inside with a pointed hiss in Aegon's direction. "Aegon, what in the hells are you doing here?"

"It's still my house, Myrcella. Now if you don't mind, Snow and I need to have a conversation."

The glass door slid shut after mother followed daughter into the penthouse, and Aegon's eyes bore into his brother. "Where the hell do you get off, bastard?"

Jon calmly returned the stare. "I'm doing what I have to do."

Through the balcony door, he could see Myrcella looking back at them worriedly. She had Daella balanced on her hip, the older girls still bickering at her feet. Jon nodded to her reassuringly and she disappeared around the corner that led to the bedrooms.

"He's my son," Aegon growled.

"No," Jon firmly corrected, "He's _mine_." He narrowed his eyes. "Besides, what do you think would happen if anyone found out about Margaery and Daeron? Can you imagine if word got to Rhaegar or gods help us, Aerys? What happens to your inheritance after a scandal like that? And what about your mother's family? From what I've heard about Arianne's pride and temper, I can't imagine you want her finding out she's not the only reason you can't keep to your marital bed."

Aegon swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "You wouldn't dare," he rasped out.

"I would," Jon affirmed and turned to go, "Do we have an understanding?" The last thing he saw before going back into the house was Aegon's pale face and weak nod.

As he said his goodbyes, passing out kisses and hugs to his favorite girls, Jon left with a weighted certainty of what decision Aegon would make.

xx

The first thing Aegon Targaryen noted as he entered the loft he had been living in for the past month, loosened his tie and poured himself a drink, was the blessed silence. He loved his daughters, but Myrcella's insistence on not utilizing a nanny meant he was robbed of his coveted quiet for most of his marriage.

He collapsed into a plush leather armchair, pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a familiar number. He sipped from his scotch as he waited for the person on the other end of the line to pick up. It only took a moment before a familiar melodious voice was filled his ears.

"Egg? This is early for you, baby. You weren't trying to reach the girls, were you? You know they're old enough to have their own phones."

Aegon sighed softly as the tension coiled in his muscles began to drain away. "No, Ari. I just... I had a difficult day and I wanted to talk. I'm not wrong about you being alone, am I?"

"No, you're not. The girls are staying over at Ellaria's and it's Morgan's weekend with his father." Aegon was unable to completely squelch the flash of jealousy and regret that accompanied the mention of Arianne's son with Daemon Allyrion. Logically, he knew he didn't have the right, considering Morgan's conception had coincided with his marriage to Myrcella. "Speaking of which, Meri and Andy were asking about you the other day, wondering when you planning to visit next."

His lips curled into a small smile at the mention of their daughters. His beautiful, spirited girls, Meria and Aliandra, were their mother's daughters through and through. It was almost hard to believe they were both on the cusp of adolescence, but he had been so young when they were born, seventeen for Meria and nineteen for Aliandra. "I'm looking to get away soon, but I need to settle things with the divorce first. Maybe a couple of weeks?"

"Sounds good. So what made your day so bad, baby?"

He hesitated. Could he do it, tell her the truth, claim Daeron as his own publicly and legally and escape being forced into another unwanted marriage? It would leave him free to be with Arianne more, but would she still want him after he confessed? He rubbed a hand over his face with another sigh. "It's actually... nothing. I thought I had a big decision to make, but I just realized I've already made it."

Arianne hummed thoughtfully, her voice dropping a register and taking on a sultry tone as she continued. "Let me take your mind off it, anyway. How about a preview of what you have to look forward to on your next visit?"

Aegon groaned, letting his head fall back against the cushion as his hand trail down to his belt buckle. "Yes, please."

xx

Sansa had to admit, she was less surprised than she should have been when she opened her door a few nights later to find Jon standing there, holding a sleeping Daeron and a thick packet of papers. After she stepped aside to let him in, Jon disappeared immediately down the hall to take Daeron to Bryn's room. Sansa went through a series of nervous gestures as she waited for his return, fidgeting with her hair and smoothing imaginary wrinkles on her shirt.

When Jon came back out into the main room, he unwound the binding holding the papers together and began holding out envelopes for her perusal. "Divorce papers. Custody agreement. A private contract where Aegon promises to never seek legal paternity. These aren't even the originals, either. Everything's been filed and processed with the court. Tyrion worked a few bribes to push the paperwork through." He let them all fall onto the dining table, watching with baited breath for her reaction.

He nearly had the wind knocked out of him with the force of Sansa throwing herself into his arms, but his breath was stolen anyway when she caught his mouth in a fierce, elated kiss.

It was only to their credit as parents, not wanting to risk mentally scarring their sons, that they even made it to the bedroom.


	17. Seventeen: Family Matters

**Save Me (And I Will Save You)  
**By Myriddin

**Chapter Seventeen: Family Matters**

_Winterfell, 1998_

The first thing that greeted Catelyn Tully Stark as she made her way up the walk to her in-laws' home were the two dark-haired figures chasing each other around the lawn. She felt a familiar knot of emotion in her stomach at the sight of their Stark features. She thought of the wistful look Brandon would get in his eyes whenever he saw Ned's little girl, the shadows that took over his gaze when he turned it to Lyanna's boy. Perhaps it was petty of her, but a secret part of her had always been relieved Jon resembled Ned more than he did Brandon, for all she suspected Brandon wished Jon was his.

As she approached the front porch she was greeted by Ashara and offered a seat beside the other woman on the swing. "Catelyn! It's wonderful to see you. What brings you by?"

"Maryse Poole called and said Sansa asked to be dropped off here instead of at home. I didn't think you or Ned would mind if I allowed it."

"Not at all. " Ashara gave her a tired smile and Catelyn frowned in concern as she studied her sister-in-law. Ashara was pale and drawn, distinctive shadows under her eyes. Her face was thinner, almost too thin to be healthy. Catelyn's worry deepened.

Before she had a chance to address it, the children running around to the other side of the house caught their attention. A moment later, they heard the distinct sound of the side door opening and closing. They shared a curious look. Ashara checked her watch, lips forming an "o" of realization a moment before Jon returned, this time through the front door. He was practically bouncing as he proudly reported, "I gave Arya her snack, Aunt 'Shara. Uncle Ned said she could eat it in the study with him."

Ashara smiled warmly as she motioned him over. The twelve-year-old stopped beside her, peering curiously at his aunt. "Thank you, baby." She stroked a hand through his dark curls. "You're a good big brother, Jon."

A light blush came to the boy's pale cheeks. "Thank you." The shyness disappeared as his brow furrowed the longer he studied her. "Are you okay, Auntie? You look really tired."

Ashara was saved from answering once more when a blue minivan pulled into the driveway. A familiar figure stepped out of the vehicle, shouldering her backpack and calling back., "Thank you for the ride, Mrs. Poole" as she slid the door shut.

Sansa ran up the driveway, gravel crunching beneath her feet. The soft, almost puppy-dog look Jon had as he watched Sansa approach them caught the adults' notice, Ashara with amusement, Catelyn with sour chagrin. Without warning, Sansa dropped her bag on the steps and leaped into Jon's arms.

The boy blinked with surprise but automatically wrapped his arms around her, supporting her against him. "Sansa?"

"I made it! I get to help design costumes for the play, Jon!'

Jon spun her around, causing her to squeal with protest, clutching at his shoulders for balance. "Jon!"

He laughed, but let her down. "Congratulations! That's wonderful." He smiled brightly, sharing in her excitement. Sansa grinned, opening her mouth to reply when she suddenly heard a soft offer of salutations from behind them.

She glanced over his shoulder, visibly surprised to see her mother standing there. "Mom? What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you. We're having the Karstarks over for dinner tonight, remember?

Sansa's eyes immediately lit up in memory. "Right. Sorry."

"It's fine, but it's time to say goodbye."

Sansa nodded and she and Jon released one another. She looked up at him and smiled shyly, leaning up to kiss his cheek. His scent, the barest touch of the sandalwood cologne Ned let the preteen wear from time to time, was comfortingly familiar, wrapping around her with their proximity. Jon reciprocated by brushing his lips against her forehead and Sansa's breath hitched. Her heart skipped as she felt an unfamiliar fluttering in her stomach, all her focus suddenly on the feel of warm lips against her skin. She flushed without truly understanding why.

The blush made something deep inside of him inexplicably smug, though he was little more comprehending of the change than Sansa. He shrugged off his confusion as he continued to gaze down at his friend warmly. "I'm really proud of you," he pecked her brow one more time. "See you soon, Freckles."

Dazed, Sansa could only nod as Catelyn hooked a hand through her daughter's elbow and urged the girl away. Ashara grinned inwardly as a confused Jon sat down beside her. They were so young, she mused silently, but she knew they wouldn't stay children together.

"Jon," she said softly, "Did you know your mother was the one who introduced me to your Uncle Ned?"

"Really?"

"Hmm-mm. Do you want to hear the story?"

Jon nodded eagerly, enthused as ever for any story about the mother he had barely known. He scooted closer and Ashara wrapped an arm around his shoulders, beginning her tale with the first time Lyanna Snow had visited Starfall.

Ashara had a lingering feeling in the back of her mind, that even if the feelings were still innocent, there would be something between Jon and Sansa in the future. Jon was her son in every way that mattered, her baby as much as Arya even if he hadn't come from her womb, and Ashara knew her boy.

Jon was so like Ned in the way he loved, wholly and completely, with all the loyalty and devotion in the world. She suspected Sansa would someday be the one he gave that dedication and love to. She wished more than anything that she could be there to see it happen.

She rubbed her fingers against her aching temple and this time she was thankful Jon didn't notice anything amiss, too enthralled in her story.

Her boy could stay innocent a little while longer.

_Winterfell, (Autumn) 2014_

"Hi, Auntie." Jon leaned down to place a bouquet of flowers upon Ashara's grave, "I don't know if you've been watching or not, but I'm happy, Auntie. For the first time I can remember in a long time, I'm really, truly, happy." He laughed softly. "I bet if you were here, you'd be telling me 'I told you so'. You always told me it would be Sansa. You were right. It's always been her. It's about time I did something about it, huh?"

He rested his hands against the tombstone, closing his eyes as his thoughts quieted and his body relaxed. "I wish so much you could have met Bryn and Daer, Aunt 'Shara. They're so full of life, so bright and curious. Like you. You probably would have spoiled them rotten."

Slender arms wrapped around his waist, Sansa's chin coming to rest on his shoulder. "I'm not interrupting, am I? I just wanted to tell you we have to meet the realtor soon. She wants to show us that house on Flint Road in half an hour."

"She made the offer on Uncle Ned's old house, didn't she?"

"She did. It's just a precaution to have other options."

"Okay." Jon turned his head to kiss her softly. "I'm going to go say hi to Mom real quick, then I'll meet you in the car."

He kissed her cheek and started down the pathway where Lyanna was buried.

Sansa turned back to face her aunt's gravestone. It was strange, she thought, to be in a place where she could practically feel the presence of the two women that would, by all rights, soon be her mothers-in-law. It felt like a rite of passage. "Hi Aunt Ashara. I can't stay long, but I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry it took us so long to get our act together. But I hope you're proud of us now. You raised such an amazing man, Auntie, and I love him so much. I just thought you should know that."

As she kissed her fingers and pressed them to the stone before turning around to follow after her fiancée, she liked to think Ashara and Lyanna both were smiling down on them. She could only hope.

xx

The resounding laughter of children was a welcome sound as Ned Stark watched the giggling trio racing around the family gardens, currently being chased by his future nephew-in-law. A smile came to his solemn face as Jon soon had Ned and Catelyn's son, Rickon, thrown over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, Daeron and Bryn grabbing onto each of his legs. Jon made exaggerated grunting sounds as he slowly walked forward, his extra passengers still clinging determinedly.

"Re, Ri, Rum, Rot, I hear the giggles of little tots." He swung Rickon down to his feet and his sons released him, the children banding together as Jon advanced while continuing the rhyme. "They better run when the monster attacks, for little tots make tasty snacks."

The boys squealed and took off running as Jon playfully lunged forward.

Twenty minutes later, a worn out Jon collapsed onto the bench beside him. "I have no idea where they get all that energy."

Ned chuckled. "I've been asking that same question since Arya learned to walk." He studied his foster son thoughtfully, another smile playing across his lips. "Jon?"

"Hmm?" Jon's response was slightly distracted as he watched his sons wrestle on the grass.

"I want you to know how proud of you I am."

"Thanks, Dad." He froze as he realized his verbal slip, giving the older man a hesitant side-eye.

Ned wrapped his arm around Jon's shoulders and tugged him into a half-hug. "I think you had it right the first time, son."

"Oomph!"

Both men turned their heads to find Sansa standing in the doorway, holding a full platter of sandwiches. She barely had time to give them a sheepish smile before the true source of the exclamation made her presence known as Arya nudged her cousin aside with an annoyed huff. She was carrying a stack of plastic cups and a pitcher of lemonade. "You make a better wall than door, Sansa."

"Jon and Uncle Ned were having a moment," Sansa retorted, her glare softening into a look of gratitude when Ned moved to take the sandwich platter from her. "It would've been rude to interrupt."

"That's enough out of you both," Catelyn gently reprimanded as she appeared behind the girls with bowls of pasta and fruit salads balanced in her hands. "We're going to have a nice family lunch, so no bickering." She shook her head when Jon tried to relieve her of her burden. "I'm fine, dear, but thank you. There's plates, silverware and napkins still on the counter if you wouldn't mind grabbing them."

Jon nodded, the last thing he heard as he headed into the house was Catelyn's call of, "Lunch, boys!" and the responses of, "Coming Mama! Coming Nana!" It warmed his heart to realize Daeron was using the grandmotherly title as easily as his brother.

Sansa followed at his heels. She dropped a kiss on his cheek as they rounded the corner into the kitchen, smoothing a hand up his back. "Robb called earlier," she informed him softly. "Sounds like he's finally ready to pull his head out of his ass. He, Jeyne and the boys are coming to dinner tonight."

"Good, it's about time we sit down for a talk." A warm, heavy hand came to rest on her hip and she moved into the touch, letting herself lean into his body. His fingers splayed out, brushing against her lower abdomen, and she breathed out a soft laugh.

"That's the third time you've done that today. You let it become a habit and people will start to figure it out."

"Is that such a bad thing?" He shifted so both his hands rested against her stomach, arms curved around her hips. She recognized the gesture for what it was, instinctual and possessive.

"It is if you can't control your lizard brain long enough to get us married first. Or do you want to tell my mother a second time you got me pregnant out of wedlock?"

"Point taken." Knowing they couldn't keep their family waiting much longer, they separated and grabbed the tableware. "You know, the courthouse does open at eight. That's nearly two hours before our doctor's appointment tomorrow."

She leaned over to kiss him quickly. "Good thing we picked up our license already, hmm?"

"Good thing."_  
_


	18. Epilogue

_Winterfell, 2026_

"Bryn, Daeron, get your butts down here! You're going to be late!"

Sansa Snow's voice broke through morning quiet of the household, catching the attention of the two children seated at the kitchen table. When the sounds of the shuffling, thumps indicating falling out of bed, and muffled swearing could be heard from upstairs, eleven-year-old Benjen shared an amused smile with his sister at their brothers' expense. "Real smooth," he murmured.

"That's for sure," was the response from twelve-year-old Lya as she rolled her Stark gray eyes.

Listening to the exchange, Sansa bit back a smile as not to encourage the mocking of their siblings. "That's enough you two. Just eat your breakfast."

Both children agreed. Benjen, or Benji as he was more commonly called, munched on his cereal, looking up as his mother passed. Sansa returned his look, running an affectionate hand through his dark hair as she set glasses of orange juice down for his brothers. Violet eyes watched her warmly and he gave her that slow, sweet smile that never failed to light up his handsome young face. For the thousandth time, Sansa found herself so incredibly grateful for the children before her.

A few minutes later, heavy stomping on the stairs announced the arrival of her two eldest. Sansa watched with amusement as Daeron struggled to put on one of his sneakers while was Bryn attempting to smooth down his unruly auburn curls. She sighed and motioned her son over to her, Bryn smiling bashfully as she wet her hand under the faucet and flattened a troublesome cowlick. "Did you even use a comb, Bryn?"

Bryn shook her head, grinning sheepishly. "Nah, sorry."

"Its fine, baby. You're the one that has to deal with the mess. We ought to take you in for a trim soon, though." She glanced over at the table, where Daeron was seated next to his younger siblings. He looked up at her questioningly, thick russet hair falling into his eyes. "You too."

Daeron blinked, shoving the mess out of his eyes, "I like my hair."

"You can barely see, hon," she pointed out as she set plates of eggs and sausage before the boys, containing heavier portions for the bottomless pits that were her teenage sons.

Daeron regarded her blankly. "So?"

Sansa sighed dejectedly, leaving the topic alone. There was little point to arguing with teenage logic. She leaned back against the island with a cup of coffee in hand, thoughtfully regarding her children.

"So what's everyone doing after school?"

"I've got a club meeting today," Benji responded as he got up and took his bowl to the sink.

"I'm going to tryouts," Daeron said. "Coach says I'm a shoe-in for varsity this year. Bryn too, right?"

Bryn turned to him, hesitating. "Actually, I'm staying after with Mr. Holt. He wants to talk to me about my art project."

Daeron stared at him. "Are you serious? You don't want to swim this year?"

"Don't feel like it."

Daeron snorted. "Sounds look you held your head underwater a little too long at that last meet."

"Daeron, leave your brother alone," Sansa reprimanded. "He has a right to be interested in other things." She turned her attention to her daughter, "What about you, Lya?"

Lya shrugged, focusing on her yogurt and toast. "I'm hanging out with Ky." Ky- Kyland Waters- was Arya and Gendry's son. Looking up, Lya caught the eyes of her eldest brother, Daeron's mouth curled into a smirk and his gaze twinkled with mischief. "What?" she snapped defensively.

"Hanging out, huh?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

Daeron grinned, leaning back in his chair. "You like him?"

"Ew, no! He's practically my brother."

After swallowing his mouthful of eggs, Bryn commented thoughtfully, "He likes you."

"That's just too weird."

"What's too weird?" their father asked as he stumbled into kitchen, his eyes heavy with sleep and hair mussed, bare-chested in his sleep pants.

Benji shrugged. "Kyland's got a crush on Lya."

"He does not!"

Jon pecked his wife's cheek, murmuring his gratitude as she placed a warm mug of coffee in his hands. "Sounds harmless enough. But I thought Lya liked Olyvar?"

"That was last month," Benji chimed in helpfully. "Oly's dating Allia Manwoody now, so Lya's mad at him."

"Ah." He wondered if that summer's vacation to Dorne had been a mistake. His children got along famously with their Targaryen cousins. But Myrcella's twin boys, Allem and Olyvar, were mischievous hellions with enough charm to talk themselves out of any kind of trouble.

"Ugh." Lya threw her arms up in exasperation. "What's wrong with you people?! I don't care about Olyvar Martell! Ky doesn't have a crush on me! And I don't like him!"

Daeron smirked, elbowing Bryn beside him. "I think the lady doeth protest too much."

"Enough, Daery," his brother responded, pushing back his plate as he rose to his feet. "We got to get going if we want to make it to homeroom."

"Alright." Daeron gulped down his juice, "You driving, or am I?"

"You can." Bryn reached out, ruffling Lya's hair. "Don't let him get to you, Ly. What goes on between you and Ky is your own business."

Lya gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Bryn."

"Hold on," Sansa stopped the boys from leaving, the two looking back at her with curious eyes. "Will you drop your brother and sister off? I have to meet with a client in an hour, and your dad's in no condition to get behind any wheel." The bleary-eyed Jon regarded her with a sheepish smile, having stayed up most of grading papers..

"Sure," was Daeron's reply as the quartet moved to file out the door.

"Goodbye, Mom, Dad."

"Bye, Mama, Daddy."

"See you."

"Later, Mom. Dad."

The house fell silent and Jon set down his mug, slipping his arms around his wife. Sansa turned in his embrace and caught his lips, earning a murmur of contentment from him as he deepened the kiss. She ran her hands through his hair, linking her arms around his neck as he hoisted her up, setting her on the counter. They broke apart, breathless as he regarded her with a lazy grin. "So… do you really have a meeting?"

"Nope. I told my secretary not to expect me until after lunch. Your first class isn't until twelve, right?"

"Right."

"Good." She kissed him again, wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling him forward to nestle comfortably between her thighs. "I feel like we haven't been alone in weeks."

"Mmm. Alone time is something I'm definitely on board with."

"Then I think we can arrange some."

He smiled against her mouth as they kissed once more and lifted her to him as they slowly made their way to the bedroom.

Jon Snow had to admit: his life was pretty damn good.


	19. Timeline

*The version of this story posted on AO3 (same penname) features helpful family trees that formatting doesn't allow me to do.

*Extras, headcanons and discussion of the fic can be found on my Tumblr (also Myriddin). Just put the Save Me (And I Will Save You) tag into the search bar.

**1986-** Jon Snow, son of Lyanna Snow and Rhaegar Targaryen, is born.

**1989-** Sansa Stark, daughter of Brandon Stark and Catelyn Tully Stark, is born.

**1990**\- Lyanna Snow is killed in a robbery gone wrong. Rhaegar Targaryen wins custody of Jon (Jon is 4)

**1991-** Arya Stark, daughter of Ashara Dayne Stark and Ned Stark, is born.

**1994-** Benjen Snow successfully petitions the court and gains custody of his nephew, entrusting the boy in Ned and Ashara's care while he serves overseas with the Night's Watch. Sansa and Jon meet for the first time at school.

**1998-** Sansa develops her first crush on Jon. Ashara Dayne Stark is diagnosed with cancer.

**2000-** Jon and Sansa have their first kiss. Ashara dies from cancer.

**2003- **Jon and Sansa have their first serious kiss. Due to misunderstandings, they decide to remain friends.

**2004-** Jon starts college at Castle Black.

**Winter, 2006-** Jon and Sansa share another kiss under mistletoe. They also spy Catelyn and Ned kissing on Yuletime Eve.

**Summer, 2007:** Sansa and Jon make love for the first time.

Jon meets Myrcella Baratheon for the first time, as Aegon's fiancee.

Brandon Stark Sr. crashes his car after drinking heavily, killing himself and paralyzing his son, Bran.(Jon is 21, Sansa is 18)

**Winter, 2007-** Sansa and Jon have a fierce argument that results in their estrangement, Sansa leaving to attend school in the Vale, Jon in King's Landing.

**2008 (mid)-** Margaery and Aegon's one night stand, Daeron is conceived (August)

**2008 (late)-** Sansa comes to visit Jon in King's Landing after an estrangement (December); Margaery tells Jon she is pregnant, falsely claiming the baby is his. (Jon is 22, Sansa is 19)

**2009 (early)-** Jon and Sansa make love as a goodbye. Brynden is conceived (January).

Jon marries Margaery (April).

Sansa and Jon travel home to inform their family of Sansa's pregnancy and Jon's paternity. Robb makes his disapproval very clear, loses his temper, and attacks Jon, resulting in a rift between him and his sister, as well as him and Jon, for several years to come.

**2009 (mid)**-During the Fire Festival, Jon brings Daeron and Margaery, and Sansa Willas, home for the first time.

**2009 (late)-** Brynden is born (October). (Jon is 23, Sansa is 20)

**2012-** Jon is injured by an IUD blast while overseas with the Night's Watch. He is honorably discharged.

**2013-** Now working from home as an author and researcher, Jon publishes Sword in the Darkness, a historical text on the ancient Night's Watch.

**Spring, 2014- **Jon shows up at Sansa's apartment after a fight with Margaery. (Jon is 28, Sansa is 25, Brynden and Daeron are 4/5).

Jon and Sansa renew their romance.

Jon and Margaery divorce.

**Summer, 2014:** Jon and Sansa begin the move back to Winterfell. Their only daughter, Lyanna, is conceived.

**Autumn, 2014:** Jon and Sansa elope.


	20. Extra: Revelation

**Revelation  
**By Myriddin**  
**

**Prompt: Something in the Save Me verse about Daer and Bryn learning about Daer's true paternity**

His body shook, trembled as he choked back another sob, squeezing his eyes shut against the threat of additional tears. His face was wet from past offenders stinging against flushed, heated skin, the taste of them and the salt of his cold sweat bitter against his lips.

It was far too much to handle, this uproarious tumult of anguish keeping such a tight grip around his heart, squeezing tighter and tighter until he could scarcely breathe. He wanted to scream, he wanted to rage, he wanted some form of release from the torment.

His body shuddered, his legs weak and rubbery-feeling as he shakily lifted himself from where he'd been curled up on the bathroom floor. He landed heavily against the sink, grunting as his stomach harshly impacted with the porcelain and it was all he could do to stay upright.

As he struggled for some semblance of balance, he caught a glance at himself in the mirror, and his attention was locked, unable to tear his gaze away from the mirrored image. He looked tired…he looked devastated...

_Paternity result is negative...__  
_  
A shrill, strangled cry tore from his throat, and his fist came crashing into the glass, shattering, splintering his reflection into a million broken piece. Now the reflection was the same as the original felt.

Broken.

xx

"This doesn't change anything."

The comment caught Daeron by surprise despite his feeling his brother's presence at his side long before he chose to speak. He grunted out an unintelligible reply, earning an exasperated sigh from Brynden and the warm weight of her hands against his shoulders.

"Did you hear me, Daery? This doesn't change anything. Benji and I are still your brothers. Lya's still your sister. That doesn't have to change."

Daeron groaned, turning unseeing eyes up to the ceiling, "I know that. It's just...this is seriously surreal. I thought I had _a _sister, out I have seven."

Bryn shot him a wry look. "You're actually counting the Martell girls?"

"Semantics. With Aegon's reputation, I'm sure it's higher."

Bryn chuckled, watching as Daeron released a tired sigh and rested his weary body back against the wall. The redhead mimicked him. "The girls are already like our sisters, though. So that doesn't have to change either."

Daeron's mouth curved into a reluctant smile, but Bryn felt his heart break when the older boy's face darkened against a moment later. Bryn was quick to wrap his arms around his big brother and Daeron clasped tightly to him in return. Daeron took in a deep, shuddering breath that caused his body to tremble and Bryn spared a momentary thought of distain for Aegon Targaryen.

"We can't tell them," Daeron stated as he let his head rest against Bryn's shoulder. "Mom and Dad can't ever find out we know."

"Okay. I promise."


	21. Extra: Smooth Operator

_Jon is none too happy about not being allowed to see his bride the night before their wedding. Shenanigans were inevitable, especially when Arya got involved._

"In my defense, I thought this would go a _lot _more smoothly."

Sansa stared at her fiance incredulously. "Jon, you ended up stranded on my balcony in your underwear for two hours."

Jon gave a sheepish shrug, color creeping up his neck. "I didn't expect that dessert and drinks with your mother and aunt would take that long."

"That was mostly Aunt Lysa. She ended up having so much wine, Mum and I had to help her back to her room." She paused for a moment, regarding him thoughtfully. "You really wanted to surprise me?"

Jon nodded and opened the blanket she had wrapped around him, revealing the black silk boxers he was wearing. "Yeah. I really did."

Her lips curved into a smile almost despite herself, and she edged closer to run her fingers over the smooth material. "Was it your brilliant idea or Arya's to climb from one second-floor balcony to another?"

"I'll admit that one was Arya's."

"I'll have to get her a bottle of that whiskey she's so fond of."

"The one that's a hundred a bottle?"

"Exactly." She shifted closer still until they were flush together. "Not seeing each other the night before the wedding is a stupid tradition anyway. Especially considering we have two and a half children together. _And_ we're already married."

"I think your mother's completely blocked the fact that we eloped from her mind."

Sansa hummed with agreement. His hands cupped her hips as she pressed her lips to the sweet spot below his ear, delighting in his responsive shiver. "Is your leg alright after your escapades?"

"Mmm-hmm. I didn't actually scale a ten foot gap, Sansa. Arya and I used a ladder."

"…I really don't think I want more details. Now, as much as I like how these look on you, I think they'll look even better off."

"Yes, ma'am."


End file.
